


each to each

by justawordshaker (thegloryofspring)



Series: each to each [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Dreams and Nightmares, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pack Dynamics, Post 3a, Resurrection, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegloryofspring/pseuds/justawordshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A necromancer is the first thing that shows up thanks to the Nemeton. Of course it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonsvengeance (immunetoiocanepowder)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immunetoiocanepowder/gifts).



> Title taken from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and definitely was not meant to end up the actual title of the story. This is why we don't make placeholder titles.
> 
> I have a lot of people to thank. First off is the lovely [Karon](http://immunetoiocanepowder.tumblr.com) who donated to AO3 during the Fundraiser Auction and was incredibly patient with me when it took me so long to write. I have to thank [Neo](http://neothebean.tumblr.com) for putting up with me while I complained incessantly while writing and enabling my obsession by making me [the cutest Erica & Boyd plushies ever](http://justawordshaker.tumblr.com/post/77539485898/). And I need to thank [Eve](http://victoryroom.tumblr.com) and [Cait](http://inexorablyacademic.tumblr.com) who fixed my typos and gave me some great feedback.
> 
> The bulk of this story was written before the airing of 3B, however, it has been influenced by the new episodes.

The lacrosse field is empty and dark, only lit by headlights. Stiles knows it is ridiculous to pick the lacrosse field. He feels like some kind of cliché. But it's wide open and easy to illuminate, even if his Jeep casts more shadows than anything else.

But it’s deserted. School is suspended until the investigation is resolved. Turns out when you have three teachers vanish and half a dozen bloody crimes happen on the premises, the FBI tends to get a little suspicious. So it's completely empty. But at eleven-thirty? Not even _Agent McCall_ would be there this late.

At least they’re good for something. Even if they have no idea how to handle actual investigations.

He stands in the middle of the field, arms shaking in anticipation. The whole thing is stupid. It is never going to work. Deaton’s out of his mind if he thinks that Stiles can actually do this. But Stiles has to know. He has to know if the rave was _really_ just a fluke or if Deaton was closer to the truth.

There are two bottles in his pocket. One is mountain ash. After everything with the alpha pack and the Nemeton, Stiles doesn't go anywhere without it. If he could, he would carry an entire truck filled with the stuff wherever he goes.

The other is filled with powders of varying color and fineness. Stiles mixed them himself, sneaking away supplies from the clinic so he could work without Deaton hovering over him. He takes a deep breath and opens it, pouring a handful into his palm.

_Vine. Reed. Willow. Hawthorn, Stiles repeats silently. Vine, close connection to the earth. Balance of light and dark, joy and wrath. Reed, used to make wind instruments. Linked to death, specifically to summoning of the dead. Used heavily in otherworld communication. Willow, grows in rain. Used for healing and growth. Found near cemeteries, planted to ward against danger. Hawthorn, associated with the Fae. Most often burned for potency._

He focuses on his breathing. Five seconds. Breathe in. Five seconds. Breathe out.

The crushed wood and leaves are gritty and rough against his fingertips. He runs his thumb through it carefully, ignoring the granules that fall to the ground.

Stiles opens his eyes and clenches his first. He looks out at the benches, imagining the powder falling from his hand. He pictures it forming a circle around him, following the path of fading chalk still ground into grass.

His fingers feel strange. Electric. Like static. It feels the same way his legs do when he stays still for too long.

He opens his eyes and breathes out through his mouth, the low sound like a whistle. He looks down.

The granules move across the ground. It looks as if they are blown by wind, but Stiles can't feel a breeze. They drift and settle over the remains of the white chalk, forming a perfect circle around Stiles. The circle closes. Everything is silent.

Stiles focuses on breathing. He counts his breaths. His hand still feels like static, but it's shaking now. He kneels as soon as he feels his legs start to shake too.

He holds the glass bottle to the ground. He licks his lips and swallows, trying to imagine the circle breaking and travelling across the ground. Tries to picture it resettling inside the glass bottle.

He watches this time. It moves slowly at first, almost like it has a mind of its own and is unsure if it should be moving. A quarter of the circle is gone when the granules begin moving more quickly, jumping over one another excitedly.

There can't be enough room in the bottle. He used a handful to make the circle - the bottle isn't empty. Then the circle is gone. The bottle is only as full as when he started.

His knees start to ache, but Stiles cannot rip his eyes away from the bottle in his hand. It looks innocuous. Normal. Nothing supernatural in the slightest. His fingers still tingle, but the feeling is starting to fade. He shakes his head, hoping it will help clear his head.

Magic. Stiles can do magic.

"Holy _shit_."

* * *

Lydia Martin has never taken research lightly. She prioritizes. Whenever she decides to learn something, she does nothing short of making herself an expert on the subject.

Which, of course, means that her genius is specialized. She doesn't care for literature or history. Too many differing opinions. Literature is too subjective. History is influenced by the victors and erases important details.

She would rather spend hours trying to work out a mathematical equation. Figuring out the ecological impact of a newly discovered species before the scientists working on it. That is far more satisfying than trying to dissect why there was a civil war or the authorial intent of the fiftieth “classic” written by a privileged white man.

So even though Lydia is fluent in four different languages, has done her parents' taxes since she was eleven, and can replicate complex chemical reactions from memory - she is woefully out of her depth with the Argent bestiary.

Lydia is not an expert in any kind of mythology. It has never been her area of interest. Yes, she can translate a text with ease. Literal translation from one language she is fluent in to another is easy. But the more she works, the more she realizes that a literal translation of the bestiary is not enough. It’s clear from the hundred pages she has already managed to complete. A true literal translation is too vague. It leaves her with too many questions.

Are werewolves actually harmed by silver, or is any reference to silver simply a reference to Allison's ancestors? Do werewolf packs tend to be matriarchal like the Hales? Do the names of other creatures detailed need a translation? Will knowing the translation help learn about the creature?

Lydia hates having so many questions. She especially hates having zero resources to find the answers to those questions.

And she needs answers. She needs to know what being a banshee _means_. She can’t trust anything she finds online. She only has her own experiences. Experiences which are woefully lacking. Is it as simple as sensing when someone will die? Is it when anyone near her dies or does the death have to be supernatural? Could she learn to harness the death sense and use it to find the cause, like she did with Ms. Blake? _How_ did she become a banshee? What did Peter actually do to her?

Lydia needs answers. And if there is one thing Lydia is not, it is patient. She is tired of waiting. She is tired of trying to translate ancient texts and being left with more questions than when she began.

It is time to change tactics.

So Lydia hunts down Peter Hale.

If she didn't already hate the man, she would be embarrassed by how easy it is to find him. She knew that he would not be at Derek's loft. Not without Derek's protection. Peter plans. He does not fight. Not unless it is on his terms. Now that Scott is alpha and clearly does not trust him, there is no chance that Peter would remain where Scott could find him.

She finds him in the new apartment complex just outside of town.

It is incredibly satisfying to catch Peter Hale off guard. He may be able to mask his shock well, but Lydia dated Jackson Whittemore. If she could read _Jackson_ , Peter Hale is child's play. He is not nearly as clever as he likes to think. Especially considering that he bought an apartment at the newest building in town under the pseudonym Peter Vigoreux.

Honestly. Did he think that would make him difficult to find? It is the French word for Hale.

Pathetic.

"Lydia," he says smoothly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He does not fool her. She can see the way he blocks the door. The way his shoulders tense and his mouth tightens.

She hasn’t forgotten what he did to her. As far as Lydia can tell, he’s responsible for the fact that she has seen half a dozen dead bodies in a few short months. He made her think she was going insane. He forced her to hurt her friends.

He feels some modicum of guilt for that. He makes that abundantly clear just in his body language. That gives her leverage. Soon, he won't care anymore. As soon as that happens, Lydia will lose any control. For now, he is embarrassed. It might just be because he had to use her to accomplish his resurrection, but Lydia can use that. She _will_ use that. She just has to be careful.

"I need your bestiary. You’re going to give me a copy of it."

Lydia holds up her flash drive and he eyes it, trying to look amused. Peter loves to be in control. Even when he doesn’t have any control, he tries to convince everyone he is still above them. She’s not falling for it.

"Oh? And what makes you think I will do that?"

Lydia smiles icily. She is no stranger to intimidation. Peter may not be an easy person to scare, but she can at least make him wary. "Because if you try to refuse, you’ll discover just how creative I can be. I have quite a few ideas about how adding an extract of wolfsbane to self-igniting Molotov cocktails would affect a werewolf’s healing process."

Peter looks properly cowed. But she can see a glint in his eye. It won’t be much longer before he is more interested in trying to claim her again. She has no illusions about the psychological torture he inflicted upon her. She has no illusion about his plans in regards to her. He wants to use her. He wants to claim her like some kind of sick trophy.

Lydia is no one's prize.

"In PDF, I presume?"

She smiles and imagines the many, varied ways she could destroy him. He is planning something. He is hiding for a reason. But he is not the only one waiting for their chance. As soon as he ceases to be useful, Lydia is going to make sure he pays for what he did to her.

* * *

The preserve is louder than Scott remembers. Even after the bite, it was always peaceful. Even though he was able to hear animals all around him, it still felt quiet.

Now everything is too loud. Even the preserve.

Scott wants to be a good alpha. He is starting to understand how hard that really is. He always thought Derek was just bad at it. Now he can feel the same urges for a large pack that Derek always talked about. He understands why Derek started building a pack out of teenagers. Scott is lucky. He isn’t alone. If he was, he’s sure he would be biting people too. The urge is that overpowering.

He is still surprised when he looks in the mirror and doesn't see a difference. Even when he manages to shift without feeling out of control, the only change is the color of his eyes. He feels like something else must be different. Something visible.

He can see the way everyone looks at him.

No. That's not right. It's not how people look at him. It's how people look to him. Like he has answers or has an idea about what he's doing.

Even the way he and Isaac patrol the preserve is different. They don't walk side by side anymore. Isaac always stays half a step behind him. Just enough for Scott to notice. His friends looked to him for answers before, but it's different now. He's actually responsible now.

Scott wants to protect his friends. He wants all of them to have a chance to live real lives. They shouldn't have to be afraid all the time. He knows that it is possible for Beacon Hills to be peaceful.

Back home, he has a drawer in his desk filled with newspaper clippings from 50 years before the fire . Except for the past fifteen years, the most supernatural thing he can find are photos of almost every Hale in a high school sport or walking away from car wrecks without a scratch.

If the worst thing they have to worry about is how to explain an inexplicable lack of injuries in car accidents, Scott will be happy.

The Hales managed to find a way to live before things fell apart with the hunters. Scott can find a way too. He can find a better way. He knows that an unspoken truce isn't enough. Scott knows that he’s lucky. Chris Argent is honorable and wants to stop more bloodshed. Maybe just as much as Scott does.

Stiles keeps telling Scott that they aren't ready for what the Nemeton might draw into town. Scott knows that he's been talking to Deaton. Allison is training as constantly as he and Isaac are. Lydia is translating the bestiary more and more everyday.

The five of them just aren't enough. Scott can't help but wonder if he should have let the twins stay. At least that would give them power in numbers. Maybe they could have helped him figure out how to transform and keep control. Maybe it isn't the Nemeton that is messing with his control, it’s just being an alpha.

Then he remembers what they did to Boyd. No orders. No demands or threats from Deucalion. Just their own bloodlust. Forcing blood onto someone else's hands and killing for the thrill of it. Scott can only forgive so much. He still thinks about whether letting Deucalion live was a good idea or not. He can't help but fear a day he might come back. He worries about Peter and what he might be planning.

He wants to make sure they're prepared, but training isn't enough. Talking to Deaton isn't enough. Even the bestiary isn't enough.

They need information. What if the next thing that tries to kill them is something they can't kill with claws and super strength or wolfsbane bullets? What if it comes before he can figure out how to shift again?

The bestiary is their best bet, but that takes time. Lydia has to translate it and then they have to figure out what’s fact and what’s bias. It isn't enough. Guesswork could get them killed.

Scott doesn't know what to do. Scott respects Dr. Deaton and trusts him with his life. He also knows that his boss wants them to figure out answers for themselves. He doesn't want to just give them information unless lives are actually on the line.

The only other people that could give him information are Chris Argent or Peter Hale. Scott is staying as far from Peter as possible. He held himself back when Derek was alpha. Some part of him didn't want to kill his nephew or was afraid that Derek might kill him again.

He won't hold himself back with Scott. If given the chance, Peter will kill him. He doesn't intend to give Peter the chance. He's stronger now, but Peter is smart and ruthless. He's dangerous.

And even though Scott trusts Chris to do the honorable thing in the end, he doesn't know if he can trust him. Chris usually does the right thing at the last minute, but until then it's a coin toss to see if he will help them or not.

Scott breathes heavily, loud as he forces air out through his nose. There's too much for him to think about. He has to prioritize. He can't protect anyone if he spreads himself too thin.

Their first priority needs to be establishing their territory. With Derek and Cora gone, Scott isn't sure how an established werewolf pack is supposed to function. Should he be letting omegas into the pack? Should he be making new werewolves? Will another pack try to take Beacon Hills? Do werewolves have land wars?

Scott doesn't know. He texts Cora and Derek updates every week, but he only ever receives one-word replies.

He has to use his own judgment. So he makes sure to patrol the preserve with Isaac every night. He can't let anyone else into the pack until he has control. Allison keeps an eye on anyone new coming to town, making sure they’re not a threat. Stiles is talking to Deaton and Lydia is translating the bestiary. They spend any spare time they have researching, looking for something that might give them an edge. Something that might help prepare them for anything.

It has to be enough.

Scott wants to be a good alpha. He wants to learn from Derek's mistakes. He doesn't want to be backed into the same corners. Derek was forced to become the kind of alpha he was by the situations. No one could have been a good alpha under those circumstances. Scott has to make sure that the same thing doesn’t happen to him.

Scott wants to try as much as Derek did, but he wants to succeed. He doesn't want to let anyone down because of  a decision he made. He knows what his nightmares mean. He knows how the Nemeton changed him and what scares him the most. Scott refuses to let any of the dreams come true.

"Did you hear that?" Isaac asks.

Scott focuses immediately. He should be paying closer attention. Distraction on a patrol could end badly. Just because they haven't run into anything yet doesn't mean they won't. As soon as he focuses on the preserve again, he can hear it. Even if he can't shift, his senses are still supernatural. He's thankful for that.

"Three," he tells Isaac. "They're coming from the east."

Isaac immediately shifts enough so that his claws are out. Scott resists the urge to do the same. He's an alpha. He doesn't need to shift to fight. Derek didn't always shift to fight someone.  He won't let himself lose control. He won’t let a fight begin with him.

He can tell that the three people heading their way are werewolves. He can hear the growls, the claws slashing through bark and leaves. But there's no way to tell if it is three omegas or a small pack.

Three men stumble out of the trees. One is middle-aged, but the other two are young. All of their eyes glow gold. Scott knows that any attempt at a peaceful talk will fail. They hardly look human. The smallest one has matted, blond hair that falls in his face. He immediately dives for Isaac.

Scott grabs him around the throat, throwing him backwards until he hits a tree. The tree buckles, but the boy stands. He can't be more than fourteen.

"Turn around." He lets his eyes shift, the only thing he can shift without feeling like he'll lose control. The red reflects in the gold of the omegas' eyes and Scott starts to feel the animalistic urges rise. The urge to just rip and tear. He has to get them out fast. They growl, but the man steps backwards and the other dark-haired boy mimics him. _"Leave."_

They dive forward.

He lets the shift fade and feels like he can breathe again. Scott sidesteps the man and grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him back. The fabric is tattered and looks shredded, but it doesn't rip even in his tight grip. Isaac fights off the other teenager beside him, slashing with his claws at his sides.

It isn’t a long fight. The omegas are almost feral and attack without thought. Scott throws them back every time they get close. When he throws the man hard enough to crack a tree trunk, it's enough. They scramble away, eyes dull and human.

He turns to Isaac. His claws are bloody, but Scott knows he isn’t hurt. "You all right?"

Isaac nods. "I'm fine. What was _that?"_

"Omegas," Scott replies. "After Derek became the alpha a few showed up."

"So what? They're looking for a pack?"

Scott shrugs. "Or maybe they want to try and kill me to be an alpha themselves."

"Could it be the Nemeton?"

He doesn't reply right away. He tries not to think about the Nemeton. Or the nightmares. Why he can't shift without being afraid he'll turn into Peter.

"Maybe."

Isaac is quiet and Scott feels guilty. He still isn't used to how his emotions affect the pack. Being an alpha is strange. It isn't like he thought. He instinctively _knows_ whether they are comfortable or not. He knew that Derek had that sense too. It's both less and more than he expected. It's like a sixth sense. He instinctively knows if his friends are okay.

He doesn't know how Derek handled it. None of them are okay. Isaac and Lydia aren't okay. Allison and Stiles definitely aren't okay. The only one who seems okay is Danny and Scott still isn't sure why he can sense Danny at all. He'll have to figure out why he feels like Danny is pack even though he is still in the dark about werewolves.

Scott hopes that Derek doesn't come back. Maybe he can be happy wherever he and Cora are. Because he knows now. He knows what it _feels_ like. He knows how awful it feels to be an alpha when your pack is terrified and confused.

But he gets a sense of Derek and Cora too, even if they’re halfway across the country. They might not be terrified like the rest of the pack, but they aren't happy. Not yet.

He has to find a way. He can't let the Nemeton stop him. He can't let the fear and death stop him. They can't live like this. He has to find a way to make sure that everyone is safe again.

He just wishes there is an easier solution.

* * *

Stiles hates the animal clinic. He hates the smell most of all. He always expects it to smell like animals. It's an animal clinic, after all. Shouldn't it smell like cat litter or dog shit?

But it doesn't. It smells like bleach and chemicals. It smells like a hospital. He hasn't spent more than fifteen minutes since before the Hales died. Except for when Scott broke his arm when they were twelve and after Peter attacked Lydia, Stiles avoids the place entirely.

The animal clinic smells like the hospital in his memories. It isn’t the same now. Whenever he walks into the hospital, it just feels _different_ than the one he remembers. Spending visiting hours with Scott and waiting in the hallway for Lydia didn't feel the same as spending hours with his mom.

Walking into the animal clinic feels like walking into his mom's long-term room. He feels like a scared eight-year old all over again. He hates it.

"Mr. Stilinski," Deaton greets as he makes his way past the mountain ash counter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Stiles reaches out and sets the bottle of light colored ash on the metal table. "I did it," he says simply.

Deaton raises an eyebrow. "Did what?"

He knows it's a challenge. Deaton hates giving a straight answer. He still has yet to explain exactly what Stiles can do. He just repeats that Stiles is a spark and has natural talent. Then he suggested he try to do the same thing he did with the mountain ash at the rave.

So Stiles doesn't waste time trying to bully information out of Deaton. He opens the bottle and pours a handful onto the table. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He imagines the small pile pushing outwards until it forms a circle.

He opens his eyes and watches as the mixture of ashes tumbles backwards, settling into a circle half an inch from the edge of the table. He looks up at Deaton, a satisfied smirk on the veterinarian's face.

"Impressive."

Stiles looks at him incredulously. "Really? That's it? That's all I get?"

"What would you like me to say? I am impressed that you have managed to accomplish so much in such a short span of time, but there is still a lot for you to learn. Manipulating materials such as this is something you have to be able to do with barely a thought. What will be far more difficult is understanding it."

The chemical smell is sharp in his nose. He just wants to leave. Scott trusts Deaton, but Stiles is more wary. If Deaton _really_ wants to help them, shouldn't he be more open about giving them a straight answer? His half-answers have almost gotten them killed more than once.

Stiles is done. He isn't putting up with the mysterious shit anymore. If something else turns up to try and kill them, and according to Deaton something _will_ , then he is not going to be scrambling for answers again.

"I get it, all right? This isn't something you can stumble through. I have to be an expert in everything so I don't blow myself or someone else up. But I don't really have  for a whole history of magic thing."

Deaton just raises an eyebrow. "This is not something you can rush. Practice and study are the only ways you will become adept enough to protect yourself and others. You are already receiving the crash course."

Stiles shakes his head. "Don’t you get it? You have had years to learn all this shit, okay? I don't have that. Because everything out there that can kill us? All of it is _actively trying to kill us._ You said the Nemeton would attract _more_ supernatural shit. What if the next murderer shows up tomorrow? I need to be able to _use_ magic."

Deaton closes his eyes and sighs. As far as Stiles can tell, it's the closest the man ever gets to exasperation. "We already discussed this, Stiles. It is not magic."

He scoffs. "Dude, I don't know what else you want me to call it."

"It’s complicated."

"So explain it to me! Stop trying to make me guess. Just give me a straight answer."

He and Deaton stare each other down. Stiles gets it. His dad always tried to make him figure out lessons for himself when he was a kid. Learning is more formative when you have to find the answer yourself, right?

Of course, that backfired on his dad when Stiles decided he wanted to make a zipline. There was a spot he thought was perfect between his window and the tree in Mrs. Reisner's yard next door. He decided the best way to connect the zipline to both sides was to jump out of his window at the tree. He was lucky he only broke a leg and didn't hit the fence.

Deaton sighs and leans against the table. Stiles matches his posture, putting his hands flat on the table. "As I told you before, you are a spark. I explained that much."

"Uh, no. No, you didn't. Not really. You spouted some bullshit about how I was some kind of magnifying glass for belief and good feelings. That doesn’t explain anything. Not to mention it's wrong. I don't inspire good feelings in anyone. Annoyed feelings, yes. Murderous feelings, occasionally. So why am _I_ a spark? "

"Mr. Stilinski, if you want answers I need to be able to get a word in edgewise."

Stiles closes his mouth and nods. "Yeah. Right."

"Being an emissary is about trust. A pack must trust its emissary implicitly. Likewise, an emissary must trust their pack."

"So a spark is, what? An emissary-to-be?"

Deaton nods. "In a manner of speaking. Not all emissaries are sparks. Most sparks do become emissaries, however."

"Why?"

"Sparks are natural talents at manipulating nature. What you keep calling magic. It has to do with the kind of people they tend to be. It isn't a science. We haven't really discovered why some people are sparks and others are not. Some things are consistent, however. You are a spark because of your open mind. You are more easily able to imagine something that should be impossible for a normal person."

"So you're saying that I can break the laws of physics because I can _imagine myself_ breaking the law of physics?"

Deaton smiles and Stiles thinks that he might be trying to hide a laugh. "To simplify it? Yes. Mountain ash on its own does not repel werewolves. Because you believed that it would keep the kanima and supernatural creatures inside the circle, it did so."

Holy shit. That was so much more useful. "So Scott can walk past your counter out there because - "

"Because I believe it will protect from harm. No being that wished harm would be able to cross it, supernatural or not."

Stiles leans forward. The implications are endless and Stiles has to _know_. "So what's the difference? Why mountain ash and not the mixture you gave me before? Can't they do the same thing?"

Deaton shakes his head. "Our belief is not enough on its own. What we do is not magic. It is manipulation. Mountain ash has an energy that is naturally attuned to defense. So we use it to defend. The mixture I gave you is made up of materials that are attuned to the elements.  When mixed together, it is in a form that is particularly open to manipulation."

"So. Research is in my future."

"Yes. But first there is something you need to understand, Stiles. Choosing to follow this path is not a decision to make lightly. It will make you a target. It is a grave decision and not easily reversed."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "More grave than sacrificing myself to a demonic tree and having to live with evil surrounding my insides for the rest of eternity?"

He doesn't expect Deaton to take him seriously. The vet always gives him the same look whenever Stiles makes a smartass remark. Of course, that only eggs him on. Stiles wants to see how many remarks it takes until Deaton he snaps and drops the mysterious advisor act.

Call it a hobby.

But Deaton does take him seriously. "Yes. What you and Scott and Allison did with the Nemeton changed you forever. Choosing to become an emissary is different. It is a choice that will not only change you, but everyone around you. You will be taking on a responsibility. Emissaries choose to become a threat to those that try to hurt innocents. Should you keep studying as you are, should you follow through with this training, you will be making yourself a target. You will be opening yourself up to more strength, but more weakness as well. It is not something easily removed."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm already a target. You know, what with the creatures of the night and the people who kill the creatures of the night coming after me and everyone I care about."

"I'm afraid that has to do with your being a spark. Becoming an active spark will only make it worse."

"Let me guess - twice as bad if I'm an emissary?"

Deaton nods. "It should not be an easy decision."

"But if I do it - I'll be able to help keep Scott and my dad and everyone else safe. Right?"

"If you continue to study, if you eventually become an emissary - then yes. You will have the power to protect anyone you wish. Though you may not know who needs that protection most or how it will affect them."

Stiles looks at him incredulously. "How else would protection affect someone but to protect them?"

Deaton looks down and Stiles thinks he looks guilty. He's never seen Deaton look guilty before. Why would Deaton be -

The Hales.

"The fire. Something went wrong with whatever protection you were giving them."

"Talia Hale asked me to focus more protection on Derek. He was involved in a dangerous situation and she asked me to make sure he was not harmed further. I worried that it was too late, that he was already in danger again. Talia confessed that he was acting strangely. I focused on protecting him and did not realize I was leaving the rest of his family vulnerable."

"Then Kate set the fire."

Deaton nods. "It was the night of a lunar eclipse. Laura and Derek should have been in the house. The protection I gave Derek did not prevent the fire from happening, it merely assured that he was out of the house. I doubt even Derek knows why he was at the school that night. There was no reason for him to be there. But he was. And it saved him."

Stiles swallows. His throat feels dry. "It's still there, isn't it? The protection? It's how he's managed to survive even though he should have ended up dead about ten times over. Whatever protection you gave him - it's still there."

"Yes," Deaton says. He looks tired. Exhausted and guilty and Stiles understands why he told Scott he couldn't be an emissary anymore. It's amazing the guy has been able to help them as much as he has. Stiles never really thought about how Deaton was probably friends with the Hales.

"As you can tell," he continues, "it has had unintended effects and has lasted far longer than I expected or planned. Derek has been protected from death, but not from harm."

Stiles sets his jaw and straightens, gripping the sides of the table. "Train me."

Deaton raises his eyebrows, looking almost panicked. "Stiles, this is not a decision - "

"I know. But no matter what happened after, whatever you did has kept Derek alive. He would have died in the fire if you didn't do anything. He probably would have died when Kate shot him or when Peter eviscerated him at the school. But he lived and that's probably thanks to you. I can live with the consequences if I can help keep everyone alive."

Stiles knows that Deaton wants to start berating him for being a stupid teenager. He can tell. It's the same look all adults get. But Stiles has spent most of his life wishing he was strong enough to protect his family. Even before the Nemeton, he had nightmares. He knows there are going to be consequences. He isn't ignoring that.

Deaton thinks he's just a dumb kid. And okay, maybe he is. After all, he did sacrifice himself with hardly a thought. Even though he knew it was going to let dark things inside, even though he knew he could die. That should be enough of a warning against more snap decisions.

But Stiles can handle it. He'll find a way to handle it. Whatever comes of him being an emissary, he will find a way to deal. If he can keep his dad and Scott alive, whatever happens will be worth it.

Stiles is sure of that much. Because no matter what nightmares wake him up at night, no matter how many hallucinations he has, it is worth it. Because his dad is okay.

Deaton sighs and stands, opening a cabinet and pulling out an ancient-looking book. He sets it down on the table. "If you wish to become adept quickly, you will need to study this carefully. It has everything you will need to know to create a foundation for your knowledge."

He touches the cover of the book. It is leather and has carvings on the front that match the symbols on Deaton's little glass bottles. His fingers tingle with the same electricity when he touches it.

"You have already accomplished what many struggle to do, Stiles," Deaton says quietly. "Which is why this is so important. Most spend years struggling to manipulate anything as skillfully as you have already done. Even those that are as talented as you have a firm understanding supporting them. You must be careful."

Stiles nods and tucks the book under his arm. "No reckless spell casting. Got it."

"I am serious. You must have that book memorized before you attempt anything more advanced. We are not all-powerful. You must know your limits."

He thinks of his dreams. Of the hands repeating the same motions over and over again. The door. The blinding light. The oppressive feeling of guilt and not knowing what he did to feel so scared. The flashes of movement in his peripheral vision even when he’s awake. The phantom touches on his shoulder or cheek.

He nods. "I get it. I won't do anything stupid." _I won't risk it,_ he thinks to himself.

* * *

Goosebumps rise on Sara’s legs. She presses her knees together and pulls her sweater sleeves down to her wrists. The sun should be rising, but the fog crawling over the field masks everything but the barest hint of light.

It would be peaceful if Sara didn’t feel so anxious. The fog feels oppressive. Like an omen. Heartbeats thrum in her ears, but not even the sound of her family can stop the skin on her shoulders from crawling. She runs a hand through her hair and rubs her eyes roughly.  

For weeks, the vineyard has become a halfway house. Every day someone new arrives who is running. They come to spend the night with the safety of an established pack, hoping that Sara’s grandmother can protect them from the rumored evil to the south.

She can hear the whispers through the walls. Even when she purposefully leaves, tries to focus her hardest and listen only to Jade’s heart, she can still hear everything. Whispers of a rogue alpha killed in tandem with hunters, a kanima defeated, and a darach slain. Rumors of a Nemeton given power. All in Beacon Hills.

Her skin crawls and her fingers tense, claws sliding free and catching on her skin. She closes her eyes until her head aches with the effort. The wind whistles through the grapevines, every dry leaf as harsh as a radio suddenly losing its signal. Every birdsong is an alarm she cannot reach to shut off. Needles stab her eyes and no matter how hard she presses, the pain does not go away.

Hands brush down her arms until they wrap around the backs of her hands. Knees bump against her elbows before they settle to brace her thighs. Warm breath blows against the ends of her ponytail and the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Listen to me.”

Sara hears the steady thrum. The heartbeat a rhythm like rain on a window pane. Her claws catch against skin again as they dull and shrink. The breath against her neck chases away the goosebumps and Sara leans into the chest at her back, pulling her knees up. She traps both of their hands against her ribs and breathes.

“You okay?”

Sara nods, eyes still closed. She turns her head so she can press her cheek against the warmth of Jade's throat. “Thank you.”

“You could wake me up next time.”

“Jade - “

“No. You’ve been upset. It gets worse every day. That’s okay. It _is_. But if you need help...you need to tell me, Sara. I don’t want to be upstairs sleeping if you’re down here and you need someone.”

Sara presses her lips against Jade’s neck and opens her eyes to dark, freckled skin. Jade is still squinting  from sleep, her hair sticking out in every direction and haloed by light from the open door. “Sorry,” she murmurs.  

Jade shakes her head. “Don’t apologize.”

“I think I have to go to Beacon Hills,” she tells Jade quietly.

Sara's head rises when Jade takes a deep breath. “I know,” she replies, “and I know that you want to go alone.”

“Niamh’s family is still there. They won’t know what's coming. And it's heading straight for them.”

“I could still go with you.”

Sara bites her lip and rubs her thumb on the underside of Jade’s hand. “I haven’t been a good friend,” she says quietly. “I want to fix that.”

Jade bends her head and presses her lips against Sara’s shoulder. Even through her sweater, the warmth is tangible. “They won’t blame you. Your best friend died.”

“Yes. And then I left her family alone so I could hide in her old bedroom.”

“Sara - “

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

Sara tenses, the arms around her suddenly too tight. Jade squeezes her hands lightly and holds her closer. “Maybe not. But I still have to go.”

“I can go with you. If you need me to.”

The sunlight is clearer on the vineyard, the fog finally starting to clear. It is closer to mist, clinging to the ground. “I know.”

“Your family will come too. If you need them. Even Banner.”

Sara laughs, the sound ripping from her throat and too loud in the quiet of the sunrise. “Oh really?”

“Not even your brother is enough of a brat to turn you down if you ask for help.”

“You sure? I love him, but Banner can be quite the brat.”

Jade laughs, low and quiet in her ear. They settle into quiet again and Sara relaxes, straightening her legs and twisting her hands to hold Jade’s. She leans her head back onto Jade’s shoulder, watching as the mist rolls away and the sun rises. Jade moves a hand to her hair, tugging away the hair tie and works out the tangles gently.

Behind them, hearts begin to beat faster and floorboards begin to creak. “Pack is waking up,” Sara tells Jade, breaking the silence.

Jade turns, kissing Sara’s temple and twisting her hair so it lies over her shoulder. “When will you leave?”

“I have to call first,” Sara replies. “I don’t want to just...show up. But hopefully by the end of the week.”

“Banner and I will come with you. At least as far as the next town over.”

Sara smiles and shifts so she can see Jade’s face. “That worried?”

Jade shrugs her left shoulder so that Sara is not jostled. “You’re worried enough to go back to Beacon Hills. I’m not just worried, Sara. I’m scared. If something goes wrong - if things are going to be as bad in that town as you think, then I want to be close.”

“Jade, I've spent most of my life preparing to replace my grandmother. I can take care of myself.”

Sara feels Jade tense behind her, her heart picking up slightly. “That’s not it. I know how easily you can take care of yourself. That doesn’t mean I can just wait. You know how much I hate waiting.”

“You are pretty impatient when we have to wait in lines.”

Jade laughs, the sound mostly just breath against her ear. She says nothing but rubs her thumb over the back of Sara’s hand. Sara hears Banner grumbling as their mother bangs on his door sharply. Remy is cajoling the girls into waking with promises of pancakes. Sara smiles when she hears Josephine and Faye tumble out of bed, racing for their great-grandmother.

Sara closes her eyes, blocking out the sunrise and the lingering mist. She focuses on the steady thrum of Jade’s heart and the sound of her pack. Returning to Beacon Hills won't be easy. Sara wants to remember mornings like this.

* * *

Thick fog clings low to Beacon Hills. The lights are blurred and dim in the dark streets. The stars are obscured, light of the moon faint and hardly any use. The air is still on the preserve. Lillian moves between the trees carefully, her coat rustling against her knees. She pulls her hood up over her head, face obscured in the shadow.

She moves carefully, but purposefully. The fog is thick enough that it is impossible to see more than a foot ahead. She walks assuredly, like she knows where to step and what direction to follow despite the fog. The dim, haloed lights of Beacon Hills are abandoned. She stops in a clearing. There is hardly any space to walk, the ground a messy tangle of knotted roots.

In the center is a tree trunk, wider than she is tall. She steps forward and bends to touch it. Her braid swings forward as she runs her hands over the surface, scratches blunt fingernails over the rings in the tree. It is smooth. Cut with precision.

Her fingertips surge and burn. Her veins feel like they fill with fire.

She smiles. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Cora’s cell phone vibrates in her pocket and she jumps. Derek turns to give her an unimpressed look. She simply glares and punches him. He is too amused by how she reacts to her phone.

It isn't _her_ fault that she never needed a cell phone until recently. She had made sure that she wouldn’t need one. It was safer that way.

She still isn’t sure if she should be happy that she needs one now or not. Cora is still scared. She still looks over her shoulder no matter where they go. She keeps expecting to find a hunter or alpha or something worse.

Derek doesn’t make fun of her for that.

She has two unread text messages, one from Scott and one from Stiles. Both insisted on having her phone number in case of emergencies. What kind of emergency, Cora isn't sure. They're somewhere in Colorado right now and heading east. If Scott and Stiles get themselves into trouble, she and Derek will never make it back to Beacon Hills in time.

And Cora has a feeling that if she and Derek get into trouble, they won’t have enough time to let anyone know before it’s too late.

 _close call with omegas all clear,_ Scott’s message reads. Cora frowns, wondering what he means by “close call.” And why was there more than one omega?

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Worrying about the pack in Beacon Hills is useless. They aren't even her pack. Derek is all she has now and she barely knows him anymore.

Sure, she might have been friendly with some of the teenagers. But they aren't her pack. She doesn't have to worry about them.

Cora checks the message from Stiles. _so deaton teaching me to be emissary good idea y/n_

_“What?”_

Derek turns abruptly, the car swerving. Cora can hear his heart stutter. “What happened?”

“Deaton is training Stiles to be an _emissary.”_

Derek doesn’t reply. Cora turns to look at him. His eyes focus on the road and his brow is furrowed. He looks concerned. But not shocked. “You’re not surprised?”

He shakes his head minutely. “It was only a matter of time.”

“Stiles is _human.”_

“All emissaries are. Even we know that.”

Cora ignores the slight against their own ignorance. “When has Stiles ever shown ability for _magic?”_

Derek turns to glance at her, giving her a completely unimpressed look. Cora would be more affected if he didn’t give her that look half a dozen times every hour. She's half-convinced his face is stuck that way. “You’ve only known him for a few weeks.”

“Yeah, and in those few weeks he never did anything remotely supernatural. And you haven't known him for much longer than that.”

“He used mountain ash to trap a kanima less than a year ago. He broke the circle without touching it.”

Cora turns to look at the mountains racing by the window. “Okay, but why would Deaton need to train him?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe he’s sick of having teenagers come running to him for help.”

She resists the urge to punch him again. His tone of voice is far too beleaguered for someone only a few years older than her. “He’s not that simple. He’s planning something.”

“Like what? Training the least capable human to be an emissary ever?”

Cora rolls her eyes. “You can quit the act. You like those kids. Even Stiles.”

“They’re a bunch of stupid kids.”

“Stupid kids that you like.”

“I’m not the one getting weekly updates.”

Cora doesn’t try to hide her scoff. “Only because you never answer your phone. Last month you were getting them too. You still get a few. I’m just polite enough to respond.”

“You and polite don’t belong in the same sentence. Unless it includes the words 'are not'.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Cora can see his cheek twitch. She’s noticed that Derek doesn’t really smile anymore. He smirks in amusement now. He doesn’t look at her, but she can see the beginning of a smirk. “It’s genetic.”

“I’m serious. I know you like them. Aren’t you worried?”

Derek exhales loudly through his nose. Cora likes to think that annoying Derek into giving straight answers is an art form. An art in which she is learning to excel. “Of course I’m worried,” he finally replies, “but they aren’t my responsibility anymore. I can’t protect anyone. Especially not a bunch of teenagers. Ones who don’t want my help.”

Cora shakes her head and looks out the window. The peaks of the mountains disappear under thick clouds. They look more like smoke clinging to a fire than a storm ready to burst. “They’re stupid teenagers. They don’t know what they want.”

“I only made things worse. Every decision that I made - it didn’t help. Nothing I did ever helped. I couldn't protect any of them.”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to protect them.”

“What am I _supposed_ to do, then?”

“Maybe you aren’t _supposed_ to do anything,” Cora replies with vitriol. “Maybe we’re _supposed_ to just try and live.”

“Let me guess: that includes trying to help those ‘stupid teenagers’ live too.”

Cora grins. “Maybe. Only if it's what you want.”

Derek shakes his head and reaches over, shoving her head until she almost hits the glass of the window. He doesn’t say anything, but Cora knows that they aren’t going to head any farther east.

Whether or not they would admit it, they would stay fairly close to Beacon Hills. Cora is starting to wonder if it is true chance that named the town Beacon.  No matter how much they try, the town keeps pulling them back.

If the town is a beacon, the Hales are the smoke. They can’t leave and just send the signal even higher. If they get too far, they will disappear.

* * *

Scott collapses on his bed. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. Patrolling the preserve every night and then having to go to work every day - it's exhausting. Necessary, but exhausting.

And he's trying to keep up on his schoolwork on top of it all. Classes might not be meeting, but teachers made it clear that they were still going to be held responsible for material when the FBI is forced to back off enough to let them go back to school.  A few of the teachers have started holding tutoring sessions. Scott doesn't want to fall behind.

He just needs to find time to relax and sleep. It's hard enough to sleep with the nightmares. But when he only has four or five hours to spare, the nightmares only let him get a handful of that.

It would be a lot easier if his dad would leave him alone.

Every other day, he has to avoid him. Has to brush him off or shut another door in his face. Scott is sick of going through the motions.

"Hey, Mom?"

She looks up from the pan in front of her. "What's up?"

"Why does he keep coming back?"

She sighs and turns back to the eggs in front of her. "Hell if I know," she replies. "Hopefully he won't be around much longer."

"Why even let him in? He's a _jerk."_

"And he still works for the FBI, Scott. You know what he's like. If we tried to keep him out, he would do something stupid. The last thing we need is your father looking too closely at what we've been doing the past few months."

"We have enough to deal with. He should just leave us alone."

She reaches forward and turns the heat off on the stovetop, covering the pan with a glass lid. Condensation starts to form on the top, dripping down the sides. "Is everything okay? Anything…happen?"

Scott shakes his head. "Not really. A few omegas tried to get at me and Isaac, but we're fine."

"Okay. And how about you? Are _you_ okay?"

He doesn't know how to answer. Scott is happy that he doesn't have to lie to his mom anymore. He doesn't want to start that again. But the last thing he wants to do is tell her about the Nemeton. None of their parents know what they did. Scott wants to keep it that way.

"Just tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Well, why don't we eat dinner and you can get a couple hours before you have to go to your super-secret werewolf training."

Scott groans. "You're as bad as Stiles. It's just a _patrol_ , Mom."

She grins and lifts her hand to tap his cheek lightly. "Sure it is, sweetheart. Get the plates."

* * *

 

_The door is locked. The door is locked and Allison can’t open it. It won’t budge, not even when she throws her shoulder against it. Not even when she centers her body low like her father taught her. The doorknob doesn’t rattle, but when she touches it there is a hiss. She can hardly feel the burn. There's only overwhelming numbness._

_“Oh, sweetie. You think you can get away from me so easily?”_

_Allison doesn’t turn around. It’s only a dream. It has to be. The heat, the smoke, the voice - none of it is real._

_“Now, I bet you’re thinking this is just a dream. Right? That I can’t_ actually _hurt you.”_

_Allison bit her tongue. She wasn’t going to reply. She wouldn’t._

_“Hate to tell you this, but…”_

_She gasps. She can feel every inch of the knife sliding between her ribs. It feels cold against the oppressive heat around her, ice sliding through her skin and fire blistering her fingers. She can’t move, the knife trapping her in place._

_“Anything can hurt you. Even me.”_

Allison fights her way out of her blankets, knife in hand before she’s free. She stands in the darkness of her room and can feel her heart pounding in her chest. _Only a dream. It was only a dream._

She tries to breathe. Tries to resist the urge to feel at her ribs, to make sure that there’s nothing there. It was only a dream. She’s fine. Kate can’t hurt her. She _can’t._

Still, the darkness closes in around her and she feels the phantom of a hand on her shoulder and a knife under her heart. Even with the dim light of a lamp, Allison can feel her skin crawling. The walls feel too close and the shadows seem too large.

She is in her car before she realizes she’s out of the house.

Allison knows driving when she’s only slept for a few hours is a bad idea. Just like driving after Kate first showed her the truth, she knows she shouldn’t be behind the wheel. She is upset and needs to pull over.

Police lights flare up behind her. The siren wails.

 _Damn_ it.

Sheriff Stilinski comes to her window. “Allison,” he says kindly, “everything all right?”

She swallows and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I was about to - “ Her voice is shaking and she knows how weak she sounds. She still hates sounding weak. She should be stronger. A nightmare shouldn't make her feel like this.

“Allison. Do you need me to call someone?”

She shakes her head. Her dad already worries about her too much. She knows that he is about three inches away from locking all her weapons up because of how she's acting and her shaky hands. If he finds out that she left in the middle of the night after waking up from a nightmare? He might just lock her in the apartment. Or pack everything up and move them out. Allison does not want either option.

“I’ll be fine, really. I just need - I need - “ She can’t finish a sentence. Her chest doesn’t feel right.

“The only thing you need to do is breathe.”

She bites her lip and tries to breathe normally. It shouldn’t be so hard. Her chest is too tight. She can’t breathe deeply enough. “I can’t - “

Before she can try to finish, the sheriff opens her door and has a hand on her shoulder and is crouching down. He steadies himself with a hand on the open door. “It’s okay, kid. In through your nose and out your mouth. You’re okay. No need to panic or work yourself up, all right? Everything is going to be fine. Just focus on breathing. That's it.”

Allison closes her eyes, knowing that the hand on her shoulder should feel too heavy. She knows that it should make her more anxious. But somehow it just makes her feel safe. It feels like she’s protected. Not in the same way as when she’s with her own father, but there is something about Stiles’ dad that makes her feel like she doesn't have to worry.

When she opens her eyes, she feels light-headed. But the tight feeling in her chest is more of an ache. It's manageable. She can breathe again. She looks up at the sheriff and tries to smile. “I’m okay now. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. Who can I call for you?”

Allison swallows and shakes her head. “I’m fine. I don’t want my dad to worry.”

He frowns and gives her a look that makes her want to laugh. Stiles doesn’t look very much like his dad, but the two are so much alike that Allison feels like she’s looking at him and not his father.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he says seriously. “I understand not wanting to worry your dad, but you were pretty close to hyperventilating. Have you ever had an anxiety attack? Because it looked a lot like one. You need someone with you right now.” He straightens and puts a hand on the top of the open door. “How about one of your friends. You and Lydia are close, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t - she just stopped having nightmares and being scared. I don’t want to remind her of that after everything.”

“Scott, then.” Allison stiffens at his name. Things are better with Scott, but she could still see the look on his face in Dr. Deaton’s office. They haven't really talked. Allison doesn't want to deal with that knot of issues. Not on top of the nightmares. “Okay, not Scott either. How about Stiles?”

Allison bit her lip. Stiles would understand. Lydia probably would have too, but not in the same way. She had nightmares because of what Peter did to her. Allison is having nightmares because of what she chose to do. Stiles would understand that because he made the same choice. And she doesn't have to feel guilty if it's Stiles.

She nods and Sheriff Stilinski sighs in relief. “I’ll call him. He can bring you back to pick your car up in the morning. I'll make sure the deputies know to leave it be.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

He looks down at her and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. It isn’t quite a smile, but it’s still reassuring. “Not a problem, Allison.”

Allison bites her lip, unbuckling her seat belt and sitting sideways while the sheriff calls Stiles. She can only hear one side of the conversation and she has to resist the urge to laugh. He sounds completely exasperated.

Stiles’ Jeep pulls up a few minutes later. He falls out of the car in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He runs a hand through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest. “Hey, Allison.”

“Hi.”

The sheriff rolls his eyes and puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, hard enough so he jumps. “Enough of the awkward, kid. Take Allison home and set up the spare bedroom for her in case she wants to try and sleep. We’ll see if you guys are up for school tomorrow in the morning.”

“You mean the 'tutoring sessions'?" The sheriff just gives Stiles a look until he relents. "Yeah, yeah. Sure.” The sheriff heads back towards his cruiser and Stiles reaches out, grabbing his arm. “Dad? Be careful, okay?”

The sheriff frowns. “Something you not telling me?”

Allison watches as Stiles shakes his head. “No. Just...a bad feeling.”

“Okay, son. I’ll keep an extra eye out. Now get going.”

Stiles keeps watching his dad until the sheriff is back in his cruiser. He sighs and turns to Allison. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” she replies quietly.

“Want to watch some mindless TV until we can’t stay awake anymore?”

Allison bites her lip, fighting a smile. “Sounds better than staring at a ceiling and trying to sleep.”

Stiles waits as Allison locks her car and she follows him to his Jeep. “You want to talk about it or…?”

Allison shakes her head, climbing into the Jeep. “Not now. Maybe...maybe later.”

“Yeah. It’s - well, you know.”

She does. The nightmares feel like they are a constant shadow. She tries to stay awake as long as possible for fear that she might have another. Once she wakes up, she feels tense and jumpy. Even after the sun rises, when Allison can tell herself it was all a dream, it still feels like she has something hanging over her shoulder. Sometimes she can almost ignore it, but she can always feel it there.

It’s omnipresent. Never ending. And Allison doesn’t know _how_ to talk about it. How can any of them talk about this new dark part of themselves when they willingly took it to save their parents? How can she complain about nightmares and not being able to sleep when it means that her dad is safe and still standing next to her?

It’s easier if they just sit and watch TV. They don’t need to talk about it. It’s enough that Stiles understands. That Scott understands, even if she is trying not to feel guilty around him. That will have to be enough for now.

Allison has never been inside Stiles' house before. It isn't very big. Definitely not like her house was. It's not even as big as Scott's. There are two stories, but everything is closer. The decorations on tables and on the mantel aren't there because it's what goes with the design of the room. The pictures and vases and odd little figurines are there for a reason.

Stiles lingers in the hallway. "So - movie?"

She bites her lip. Now that she's in the quiet, dark house she feels different. Allison doesn't want to watch anything.

So she shakes her head. "I keep dreaming about Kate. And I keep seeing my mother."

The quiet stretches between them. It’s like a taut bowstring, ready to fire. Stiles could brush her off. Make a joke. She would understand.

"Mine aren't that clear," he replies quietly. "A lot of closed doors and blood. Of course, that's only when I can actually _sleep_. Other than that I keep seeing things that I think are dreams. I'll be wide awake and it feels like I'm dreaming. Then I realize I was writing in my notebook the whole time and I have pages of 'wake up' that I don't remember writing. And - "

Quiet hangs in the air. "And?" Allison prompts.

"I think I'm seeing my mom too."

Allison blinks and looks at how Stiles is avoiding her eye. Her chest feels tight. She forgot. It just seems so _normal_ for it to just be Stiles and the Sheriff. She doesn't even know how his mother died. Scott told her that they were friends before that, but after his dad left and Stiles' mom died it was different. He said after that, he knew Stiles was always going to be his best friend.

"What does it mean?"

Stiles shrugs and Allison can see how tired he really is in the gesture. He has never been subtle. Stiles is all big, cartoonish gestures. She can count on one hand the number of times she has seen him subdued.

That was before their parents were taken. She hardly ever sees him flail anymore. His muscles are always tense and he looks like he's ready to snap.

"I don't know if it means anything. Deaton said we'd have hearts of darkness for the rest of our lives, right? Maybe that's all this is."

"There has to be a reason," Allison says firmly. "There has to be a reason I keep dreaming about Kate stabbing me and locking me in a burning room. Why I can't aim anything without my hands shaking. Why you keep dreaming about closed doors and think you're dreaming. If we find out why - "

"What? We can stop it? Allison, we're _stuck_ with this. Don't you get it? This isn't going to go away. We saved our parents. It's cause and effect. They would have died if we hadn't been there. We got between that. We stopped it."

Allison folds her arms across her chest, shoulders caving into a slouch. Stiles runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up everywhere. He bites his lips and takes a step towards her, hand outstretched.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I - " His hand falls and he runs it over his face roughly. "I'm an asshole. I'm sorry."

"You're not."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah. I am."

She bites her lip, trying to hold back even the smallest smile. Her dimples ruin the effort. "Sometimes we need you to be. Not all the time. Just once every blue moon." He laughs and she steps forward. She makes sure that she moves slowly. She and Stiles have never been close. Scott has always been there to be a buffer.

It feels different now.

So she hugs him. She wraps her arms around his neck and marvels at the fact that she has to stand on her tiptoes. When Stiles and Scott stand next to each other, one doesn't look taller than the other. But she never had to stand on tiptoes with Scott.

It takes him a second, but he moves his arms around her back. One of his hands press between her shoulder blades, the other against her ribs. Exactly where Kate's knife slid through her skin.

She bites her lip until it stings. "Want to cuddle on the couch?"

Stiles laughs. It's a real laugh and it makes Allison smile. "Sure. I can cuddle. I'm an awesome cuddler. Lots of practice with Scott."

They collapse on the couch and Allison presses herself against Stiles' side. He doesn't wrap his arm around her, not like Scott would have, but he does slip his hand into hers. It's nice. She imagines that it's probably what having a brother would feel like.

She adjusts so she can put her head on his shoulder, tightening her grip on his hand. He mimics her movement and his cheek is warm against her head. She closes her eyes. Stiles feels safe too. Like the sheriff. Like her dad.

But she knows that Stiles understands. He probably grew up a lot like she did. The weird kid whose dad knew too much about guns. He knows how hard it is to pick up the pieces after losing a mother. He knows how terrifying falling asleep can be after the nightmares.

"Thank you, Stiles."

"You, too."

 

 

* * *

Lillian moves through the graveyard carefully. The earth sings under her feet. The notes are low and muffled over the graves with cracked and weathered headstones, high and jarring where there is freshly moved earth. None of the graves are loud enough. None of them catch her ear.

She wanders amongst the graves, the hem of her dress catching against edges of headstones. The moon is high, half-full and uncommonly bright. She pauses, watching as clouds drift by and obscure the light before moving on again.

A high, melodic whistle drifts across the quiet air. Lillian closes her eyes, letting the music pull her lips up into a smile.

She follows the sound and reaches a grave, hardly a year old. She barely glances at the name, except to notice that the name is familiar and that she should recognize it. But Lillian has more important work to do.

The mystery of Katherine Argent's familiarity will have to wait for another day.

For now, she prepares the ritual. She makes a small fire, placing the sprigs of asphodel on the flames. She makes the circle of powdered reed, the charms of willow solidifying the weakest points of the circle. The ropes of ivy wrap around the decaying wrists and ankles.

Lillian kneels next to the fire and holds smoldering asphodel in her hand. The earth is singing around her and she knows that things are about to change. The fire next to her pops, sparks flying and sending smoke high into the air.

The world shifts.

Katherine Argent opens her eyes and gasps for breath. She breathes in the smoke and smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

His neck aches, but his entire right side feels warm. He didn't wake up choking down a scream. That’s something new. It takes almost an entire minute for Stiles' brain to catch up with his body. He's on the couch. Allison is sleeping next to him. Sunlight is streaming through the gap in the curtains.

He can hear his dad moving, the floorboards creaking under his feet.

"Called Allison's dad," he says softly, coming around the edge of the sofa to sit on the arm of the chair. "Told him she was safe and you guys were taking a day from tutoring."

"Are you heading out again already? You had the night shift."

His dad sighs and rubs a hand over his head. "Yeah. Got a call, though. Something about grave robbers. Have to go and make sure it's nothing…"

"Unnatural?"

"Yeah."

"Dad - "

He shakes his head and stands, squeezing Stiles' shoulder as he walks by. "It's my job, kid. If I think something looks suspicious, I'll give you a call."

Stiles grabs his dad's wrist before he can leave. He's being stupid. It's probably nothing. Plenty of crimes in Beacon Hills are completely normal. They don't all have to be supernatural. He thought he was over being afraid that his dad would leave and not come back.

He feels like a little kid again. How he felt when his mom was sick and he would beg his dad not to go. He didn't know what to say then. He doesn't know what to say now either.

But his dad knows him.

He tightens his grip on Stiles' shoulder. "Everything's okay, kiddo," he says quietly. "Try and get some more sleep, okay? You need it. Go upstairs and lie down."

"Dad - "

"I'm serious, Stiles. You two will be more comfortable upstairs. You think I haven't noticed _your_ nightmares? Or what it might mean that you and Allison are both having them? I wasn't born yesterday, kid."

Stiles looks down. If he looks up, his dad will know. He always _knows_. Somehow. It's a miracle he didn't figure out werewolves just by looking at Stiles. If he looks up now, his dad will probably figure out why he's getting nightmares.

He closes his eyes when his dad moves, hand heavy on top of Stiles' head. "I'm still your dad, kiddo. It's my job to take care of you. Go get some more sleep."

Stiles bites his tongue and lets go of his dad's wrist. The door closes and Stiles forces himself to breathe slowly. Nothing is going to happen to his dad in broad daylight with a dozen other deputies around him.

"Stiles?"

He opens his eyes. Allison is looking up at him, blinking tiredly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he mutters. "Dad got a call. Something about grave robbers."

"My dad - "

"It's fine. He knows you're here."

She leans back, head drifting back to Stiles' shoulder. She's quiet, fingers pulling at the hem of her t-shirt. "I haven't slept that well in weeks."

"Me neither."

"And I’m still exhausted."

Stiles sighs and nudges her hand with his knuckles. "Well, we don't have to go to the tutoring thing. We could sleep some more. My dad practically ordered it."

Allison bites her lip and presses her knuckles to her mouth, trying not to laugh. "Okay. Don't be surprised if I wake up screaming, though."

"Yeah, that warning is definitely mutual."

 

* * *

Isaac Lahey doesn’t get along well with people. He never has. He has always been too abrasive or too quiet. Always one or the other. So he embraced the quiet. He became a wallflower. Better to not be noticed than to be hated. It was easier to be invisible. He never had to explain the bruises. There was no one to explain them to.

It's different now. He has friends. He has people that he actually cares about and who care about him. Some days he still cannot believe it and thinks he'll wake up in a dream.

On the one hand, it’s a good thing. He isn't as lonely anymore and it’s nice to have people ready to watch his back. But he’s still trying to figure out how to be friends with people. He is still more likely to try and figure out something on his own than to wait for help.

He's trying to work up to it. Otherwise he probably wouldn't be in the preserve on his own.

It's not like he randomly decided to go on a patrol without Scott. They have been patrolling the preserve for weeks. It is the easiest way for rogue omegas to get into Beacon Hills. It's how the alphas came to Beacon Hills. It's where the Nemeton is. Scott has other things to worry about, so Isaac is taking care of this. He isn't good at research or at sitting around and waiting.

Besides, it's perfect practice for using his senses. He hardly ever gets overwhelmed by the sheer amount of detail now. Plus, it's easier to sleep at night if he runs himself ragged over the preserve until three in the morning. The loft is too quiet at night.

Isaac isn't far from the Hale house, tracking a strange scent he picked up the night before. He hadn't been able to follow it far. It was too faint, but it's stronger now. More defined. He can tell that it means whoever or whatever is tracing over the same path as before. It's a strange smell. He can’t tell what it is. Usually there are other smells when he’s tracking someone. Sweat or food. Something to indicate where they were earlier. The scent isn’t as complex. It’s like smoke and incense and an almost overpowering flowery scent.

He follows quietly, sure to make his footsteps silent. He isn't sure what he’s tracking. If it’s something supernatural, they might have senses as good as his. He has to be careful.

The scent is faint. There are only traces of it and only along the ground. The trees, despite being close, are empty of the smoke and incense and flowers. The bushes are free from the scent as well. It is like whoever is leaving the scent is purposefully avoiding touching anything.

He can hear whispering from ahead. It is faint, so much so that he can't even decide whether it is a man or a woman's voice. He creeps forward, straining his ears to hear.

"Is it true? The rumors?" Isaac is close enough now that he can tell it’s a woman's voice. He's still too far away to see, or to smell anything but the faint traces of smoke and incense.

"Surely you know better than to believe the rumor mill. Werewolves are the worst gossips."

Isaac tenses involuntarily. Peter. What the hell is _Peter_ doing in the middle of the preserve? Who is he talking to? _Why?_

"Stop playing with me. I know they are true just from looking at you."

"You know what they say: a magician never reveals his secrets."

Isaac inches closer, but doesn't dare to come any further. He doesn't want Peter to know he's there. He still cannot see either the woman or Peter, but he can hear them more clearly.

"You were dead, Peter Hale. I can sense it. You are no revenant or draugr - you are flesh and blood and soul once more. How?"

"Ah, but if I just _tell_ you then all of my mysterious air will be gone. I can't have that."

"You are going to tell me how you accomplished a resurrection. Willing or no."

"Ah, and here I thought I was the only melodramatic soul now that my nephew left. It is so good you turned up…what is your name again?"

"That is of no concern to you. I have no affiliation. I am only concerned about knowledge."

Isaac is close enough that he can hear Peter's heart accelerate. He is disturbed by the fact that he knows Peter well enough to realize that it meant Peter is excited. "I see. You're the necromancer. The one they talk about."

"And if I am?"

"And nothing. But I consider myself concerned about knowledge as well. So I like to know who I am associating with beforehand."

Isaac listens closely. Peter's heart is slowing, but is still faster than usual. The woman's heartbeat is steady. She is completely calm. Isaac wishes he could be so calm when talking to Peter, especially when he is excited about something. There is something very wrong about Peter and Isaac is wary of anything that gives him reason to be excited.

"Out of curiosity," Peter asks, "why are you so interested in necromancy? It is hardly the most useful skill for someone of your talents."

"On the contrary, necromancy is my talent. No other has been as skilled with asphodel or reed as I am," she replies haughtily.

"In any case, my return isn't going to be of use to you. I had little to do but wait for the pieces to fall into place."

"I am not interested in theatrics," she says harshly. "Tell me how you did it or I will rip the answers away from you."

"Testy," Peter replies. Isaac rolls his eyes. Peter always had to _push_ people. He couldn’t wait for the day that Peter pushes the wrong person too far. "It was an old spell. Accomplished primarily with a banshee and a worm moon."

The woman hisses. "Blood of the mother," she says, making it sound like a curse.

"Well, the sister in this case. Let's just say my nephew donated to the cause."

"Where did you find a banshee? They are all but dead now."

Isaac can hear the grin in Peter's voice. It makes his skin crawl. "I helped create her."

The woman scoffs. "Banshees are not created. They are not _werewolves_. The sidhe would not take kindly to any human becoming one of their own."

"Ah, but you see, the bite of an alpha werewolf would force a banshee to manifest to fight the infection."

"You attacked one of the sidhe? It is little wonder you were killed. You will not be so lucky again." Isaac frowned. He wishes he knew what a "she" was. It obviously has something to do with Lydia.

"It was necessary," Peter replies airily. "I knew there was a chance I would be cornered. I only had two betas and one was already allying with hunters. It was only a matter of time before my nephew turned on me. I had to make preparations."

"You're a monster. I should kill you myself. Make sure that such an abomination cannot come back again."

"But you won't."

"Not yet," the woman threatens. Isaac believes her. Her heart does not skip or race. She means that she will kill Peter, believes that he is an abomination.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to see who wins that fight."

Isaac can hear him walk away, turning in the opposite direction. He scrambles for cover, hearing the rustle of cloth against leaves. The woman passes where he’s hiding behind a bush and he can smell her clearly for the first time. The smell of smoke and incense are almost overpowering, but there is no other scent save for the trace of flowers.

He watches as she passes, a hood covering her face. Something about her makes him feel uneasy. Like he needs to keep his distance even though he should follow her.

_Lilies,_ he thinks as he waits for her footsteps to fade into silence. _She smells like lilies._

* * *

 

The phone wakes her up. It makes her jump and she narrowly misses hitting Stiles when she sits up too fast. He flails into an upright position next to her, scrambling for his phone. "Yeah, yeah. Hello?"

"Who is it?"

Stiles shakes his head, listening intently. "Are you sure?" Allison watches, biting her lip. Stiles closes his eyes and she knows that look. It's the same look he has had every time something bad happened. The look that said he _knew_ it was going to happen, but hoped that it wouldn't.

"Stiles, what's happening?"

"Okay. I'm coming." He hangs up the phone and runs a hand through his hair. "Not grave robbers. Bodies are gone."

"Someone stole _bodies?_ Why?"

Stiles shrugs and gets up, grabbing clothes from drawers. "I don't know. We should call Lydia, she's been translating your family's bestiary."

Allison nods and stands. "I'll call her. You get changed. We'll have to stop so I can get clothes first."

He looks at her with a  frown. "What?"

"I’m coming with you."

"Lydia might need help - "

"If she needs help researching, you would be more help to her than I would, Stiles."

Stiles scoffs. "I'm not that great at research, Allison. I'm good at putting pieces together."

"So am I," she says firmly. Stiles isn't going to leave her behind. "Get changed. We can stop at my car. I have spare clothes in my trunk."

He shakes his head, but goes to change. Allison picks up his phone. Hers is still at home, but Stiles has Lydia's number too. Lydia answers after the first ring. "Stiles? What's going on? Why aren't you and Allison here?"

"It's me," Allison says. "I can explain later, but you have to get to your copy of the bestiary."

Lydia is quiet for a moment. Allison can hear movement on the other end. "What's happening?"

"Stiles' dad got a call. He thought it was about grave robbers, but he just called. Someone is stealing bodies. We need to figure out what's going on."

"That isn't much information to go on. It could be almost anything."

"We'll get you more as soon as we can, but start looking for anything that would need bodies. Talk to you soon."

"Be careful," Lydia says before she can hang up.

"Yeah. You too. Find Scott and Isaac, okay? Tell them what's happening."

"Of course."

The line clicks dead and Stiles hurries back in. His hair is a mess, sticking up everywhere, but he's dressed. She hands him his phone.

"Let's go."

It takes twenty minutes to get the clothes from the back of her car and make it through traffic to the cemetery on the other side of town. By the time they arrive, the Sheriff is the only police officer left. He is crouched beside an open grave, studying something on the ground.

"Dad!"

The sheriff looks up when Stiles shouts and starts heading towards them. "You didn't take Allison home?"

She frowns. "I wanted to come. If something is happening - "

He sighs and nods, holding up a hand to cut her off. "I get it. But this probably isn't the best place for you right now."

"Why not?"

The sheriff doesn't reply. She looks at Stiles and he's looking at his father, eyes narrowing like he understands what is happening. "Dad…whose grave is that?"

He shakes his head, looking at Allison carefully. Not with pity, but like he isn't sure of how she will react. "Whose is it?"

"Your aunt's."

Allison swallows, but her throat is dry. "Kate?"

The sheriff nods. "I'm sorry, Allison. We'll figure out what happened, okay?"

She doesn't listen anymore. She pushes past him. She has to see it for herself. She can hear Stiles behind her, trying to stop her. She has to see.

The grave is dug out perfectly. Edges pristine. Not natural except with heavy machinery. The remains of a small fire are at the edge, ashes and charred twigs all that remain. The coffin at the bottom is still wide open. Her chest feels tight, like it always does when she wakes up from a nightmare. This can't be real. It can't be. Kate's dead, she can't hurt her, she _can't -_

_Anything can hurt you. Even me._

Allison throws herself backwards, away from the grave. She hits Stiles and almost falls, but arms hook under hers and drag her back. There's too much momentum, so they both fall. She covers her face with her hands, trying to breathe. It's just a dream. It has to be. This isn't _real_. It's another nightmare. She'll wake up in Stiles' bedroom and everything will be okay.

No. It's a lie. She's awake. It's not a dream.

She can't stop the tears. It wasn't supposed to be real. It was supposed to be a nightmare. That's it. She can feel Stiles' hands on her shoulders, the sheriff talking in her ear. Telling her she has to calm down, she needs to breathe.

She doesn't know if she can.

* * *

 

Derek is trying to sleep in the passenger seat. It’s useless. The sun is too bright and the car is too cramped. Even though he is exhausted from driving all night, he can't sleep. He and Cora decided that it would be better if they didn't stop to rest. As much as he wants to stay as far away from the town as possible, Scott's pack is still his responsibility. The sooner they get back, the better.

When his phone rings, he’s thankful. He sits up straight, looking at the screen of his phone and glancing at Cora. "It's Scott," he says. She bites her lip, but keeps her eyes on the road. "What happened?"

"How fast can you get here?"

"We're already on our way. We should be there by Wednesday. What _happened."_

Scott pauses. Derek can hear birds in the background and knows that he's on the preserve. "Right now? Someone broke into the cemetery and stole a body last night. Stiles and Allison are checking it out. Stiles sent us a text saying who it was."

He doesn't continue. "Who was it, Scott."

Derek hears Scott sigh on the other end. "Kate Argent."

Cora swerves, narrowly missing running off the road. Derek closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe. He uses his free hand to clench his fist, fighting the shift. He waits until he is sure his eyes won't glow before he opens them. Cora looks back and forth between Derek and the road, eyes glowing gold.

"What do you know?" Derek says, forcing himself to stay calm.

"Isaac overheard Peter talking to a woman last night. He called her a necromancer. Lydia thinks she might be trying to find a way to resurrect people. Like what Peter did."

Derek closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose. He is starting to truly believe that he’s cursed. How many times can one person be tortured before they die?

He clenches his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the conversation. Self-pity won't help anyone. "Do you have any leads?"

Scott sighs, the sound crackling and harsh over the phone. "Not yet. Isaac and I are trying to track the woman's scent, but I think she must be doing something. It keeps fading or disappearing for no reason."

"Use more than scent," Derek says. "Check for footprints, broken branches, displaced leaves. Anything that might point you in the right direction. If she can bring people back from the dead, masking her scent is well within her power."

"Okay." Derek can hear Scott moving, can hear his footsteps and Isaac's through the static quality of the phone. "I'll see if Allison can talk to her dad. Lydia is combing the bestiary for anything mentioning necromancy. We'll figure out what's going on."

"Argent's bestiary?"

"Yeah. Peter's too. Lydia made him give her a copy. Stiles has some books from Deaton about emissaries, we can look at those too."

Derek frowns. "Are you sure you can trust Deaton?"

"Why wouldn't I trust him?"

"His timing is too perfect," Derek replies darkly. "He always has an answer just when we need it."

"Some people would think that was a _good_ thing."

Derek shakes his head. Scott is a good alpha. He's a more natural leader than Derek has ever been. He's natural at being an alpha like Laura was. But he's also too trusting. He always sees the good in people before anything else.

"It would be a good thing if he gave us the answers before we were desperate for one. He gives us a wild chance when we have no other choice. It's suspicious, Scott."

"Maybe," he replies, obviously unconvinced. But he's listening. Which is more than Derek got from Scott until recently. "Do we really have a choice, though? He's the only one giving us any answers at all."

"I'm not saying we do. Just be careful. Make sure Stiles is too."

Scott snorts. "It won't be hard to do that. Stiles already doesn't trust him."

"Don't get yourselves killed until we get there."

"Same goes for you two, you have shitty luck."

Derek is barely able to hang up the phone before Cora starts. "Why would someone take _her?"_ Her voice is full of venom.

"I don't know."

Cora is quiet for a moment. "Do you think it will work?" she asks nervously. "Could someone actually bring her back?"

Derek shrugs. "Peter managed it. It might be possible."

"What do we do when we find the necromancer? If she can really bring people back - "

"Don't. Cora, we don't know how she does it. If she even can. What if she is trying to resurrect people to use them?"

Cora's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "They didn't deserve to die," she says, her voice rough.

He reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing the back of her neck. "No," he agrees, "they didn't."

Derek is quiet. He watches as his sister presses down on the accelerator, pushing the car faster on the empty road. "Sometimes I forget," he says quietly, "how long you spent with them. You knew them longer than I did."

Cora swallows, the sound loud even over the thrum of the engine. "They took care of me," she says quietly. "I wasn't…when the alphas found me, I fought. Erica and Boyd made sure I was okay. We kept each other sane." She bites her lip hard enough that for a second, he can smell blood. "I miss them."

He squeezes her shoulder and pulls his hand back. "I know."

She nods and tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

* * *

 

John Stilinski is good at his job. He always has been. He takes pride in it and defines himself by it. More people know him as “Sheriff” instead of “John.”

Which means when John can’t do his job with confidence, he is not only annoyed - he is scared. If there is one thing John knows he can do well, it’s to solve puzzles and help people. When he has trouble putting a puzzle together, he always worries. The faster he’s able to solve a case means less people will potentially get hurt.

The whole “werewolf” reveal blew any confidence John had out of the water. How could he be confident when people died simply because he wrote off something as impossible? How many people could he have saved if he had paid more attention? How many times had his son almost died without him even knowing?

John shook his head, focusing on the scene in front of him. Any evidence was already bagged and sent back to the station with the rest of his deputies. As soon as he looked at the scene, he knew. He knew that it isn't a normal grave robbery.

If the open coffin, perfectly dug grave, and remains of the fire weren't enough of a hint then Allison's reaction sealed the deal. Stiles helped her back to his Jeep while he texted Scott the update. Now he's back at John's side.

"What do you think?"

Stiles kneels down and touches the edge of the grave. "Not sure. It's definitely not…normal. A human couldn't dig something this perfectly. And the coffin is completely dug up, even on the sides. It looks like the dirt was just…"

"Moved," John finishes.

"But why? Why would someone dig Kate up? What's the point?"

John shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. "You're the expert on this stuff, kid."

Stiles laughs. It's the self-deprecating one. "Then we're really in trouble."

"Any ideas, at least?"

He shrugs and stands. "Not really. It could be anything. I've read about certain monsters that eat corpses. Maybe they took the body to do that? But it doesn't explain the perfect digging. Maybe - "

John glances over at Stiles. He's staring at the remains of the small fire, hand frozen on his jaw where he was scratching a moment ago. "Stiles?"

"What's that?"

"Remains of a fire. Looks like whoever was here was burning something."

Stiles rushes over to it and kneels next to the ash and burnt sticks. John frowns when he pinches some of the ash between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose. He looks up and John has to resist the urge to groan.

"I think I know why they were here."

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"No, probably not."

"Well, what is it?" His hand falls and straightens his shoulders. He has no idea what Stiles is going to say. Probably something crazy that John won't want to believe.

He's not making that mistake again. He refuses to see that look on Stiles' face again.

"I think it's an emissary. But probably one like the darach that's not with a pack anymore."

"Why?"

Stiles stands and holds out the ash in his palm. "It's asphodel and reed. Emissaries manipulate different kinds of plants to do what they want. It’s basically magic. They burn it or crush it to powder. But the emissary has to be unaffiliated. No pack would _want_ Kate Argent alive again."

John holds up a hand. "Woah, alive? Kate Argent has been dead for almost a year, Stiles."

"I know, Dad. But Deaton's been teaching me stuff about emissaries. Asphodel and reed? It's a weird combination. Reed is used for like, scrying and meditation, usually. And to make musical instruments. But it's connected to death. There are all kinds of myths about using it to summon spirits."

"What about the other one? Aspo - "

"Asphodel. It's a flower, a kind of lily. It isn't really used much. Usually it’s to help someone heal, but only if they’re really injured. Even humans use it, to help with snake bites. But it's got a ton of mythology around it and all of it has to do with the freaking underworld, Dad. And most of the mythology is shit, but there's something about asphodel that just…not many people use it because they're superstitious. No one wants to use a plant to help someone that has myths linking it to the most boring afterlife ever."

John raises an eyebrow. "Stiles. The point?"

"There's only one reason someone would be using those two together. Reed to call a spirit from the underworld. Asphodel to heal and tie it back to its body."

"So you think someone, what? _Resurrected_ Kate Argent? Why?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I don't know. But it's not going to be good."

"That way Allison was so freaked?"

"No. Though she's probably going to react the same way when we tell her what's going on. Her nightmares have been about Kate. This was probably just a trigger." He glances back towards his Jeep, looking worried.

"You ever going to talk about _your_ nightmares, kid?"

Stiles looks up at him with wide, panicked eyes. Then he looks down, hand rubbing the back of his head and then down his face. "Dad - "

"Stiles. Whatever it is you're worried about? Stop. I know what's going on now. If you think I'm going to let you get away with not telling me why you're having nightmares every time you fall asleep, you're wrong."

He still doesn't look up. John sighs and reaches out, hauling his son forward so he can hug him. Stiles grips the back of his jacket tightly and John holds him tighter. "Dad, I can't - "

"We'll talk later. But we are going to talk. Okay?"

Stiles sighs loudly in his ear. "Okay."

John lets him go, squeezing his shoulder tightly like he did a few hours before. "I'll call if anything else comes up, okay? Go tell everyone else what's what. Call me with any updates, all right?"

Stiles nods, heading back towards his Jeep. "I will. Be careful, Dad, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now get going, kid."

John watches as he goes to the passenger side, opening the door so he can talk to Allison. He can tell that she is upset, but Stiles talks until she nods. He closes the door and climbs into the driver's side. He waves before speeding off.

He can't help but wonder when his son stopped being a kid.

* * *

 

Lydia has never been good at comforting people. She excels at any number of things, but comfort is not one of them. Of course, usually she doesn't need to comfort anyone.

She's beginning to wonder if there is a class she can take to get better. First it was Stiles and his panic attack. She was completely unprepared. It’s a miracle that she actually managed to help him and she knows that it was only a fluke. The first thing Lydia did when she had a spare minute was to research everything about panic and anxiety attacks and methods of dealing with them.

Now, though, it's Allison. She and Stiles are on their way to meet them at Lydia's house. Lydia insisted that Scott and Isaac skip tutoring with her since all of her notes on the bestiaries are there. As soon as Stiles texted that Kate Argent's body is the one that is missing? Lydia _knew_ that it was going to be bad.

She had no idea, though.

Allison and Stiles come in and Lydia has to remind herself that she only saw Allison three days ago. Her best friend looks awful. Her hair is a tangled mess, her eyes are bloodshot, and she is paler than Lydia has ever seen her.

Lydia may not be good at comforting people. But Allison is her best friend. She isn't going to let it stop her.

She stands and immediately goes to Allison, threading their arms together and leading her to the bathroom. "Stiles, the translated parts of the bestiary are on my desk. Fill yourself in."

She closes the door behind her and makes Allison sit on the closed toilet lid. "What can I do?"

Allison bites her lip, looking up at Lydia. "I don't know if you can do anything," she replies quietly.

"There's something I can do. What do you need?"

Lydia waits. She might not be able to comfort Allison, but there's something she can do. There has to be.

"I don't know."

She sighs. Allison needs a distraction.

Lydia knows what to do.

She turns and opens the door. Stiles stops talking mid-sentence, hands freezing in the air. She ignores the boys, grabbing her desk chair and dragging it into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind her and she puts the chair up to her sink.

Allison frowns. "What are you doing?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I'm going to wash your hair. You'll feel better and it will distract you."

She bites her lip and Lydia can see her dimples betraying a small smile. Allison sits in the desk chair and leans back carefully, resting her neck on the curve of the sink. Lydia is grateful that her sink is one of the old-fashioned rounded kinds. It will make it a lot easier even if the lack of counter space has always annoyed her.

Lydia works quietly, gently working the tangles out of Allison's hair. "You were at Stiles' this morning?"

Allison's eyes are closed. She hums a little. "Yeah. I had a nightmare and his dad pulled me over. I didn't want to go home."

"You know you can call me," Lydia replies. "You can stay here whenever you need to."

She smiles enough for her dimples to come out again. "I know. But you just stopped having nightmares. Things are getting back to normal for you, I didn't want - "

Lydia tugs on Allison's hair slightly. "You're my best friend, Allison. I don't care if you had a nightmare about a teddy bear. I want to help as much as I can."

She opens her eyes. "I know."

"What did you two do? Watch terrible movies to distract yourself?"

"We were going to," Allison says quietly. "We just…slept. We talked for a few minutes, but we just slept on his couch. I haven't slept that well in weeks. I don't think Stiles has either."

Lydia rinses Allison's hair and grabs a towel, drying her hair as much as she can and helping her sit up. "Well. If Stiles is ever busy, you know my phone is always on."

Allison smiles and takes the towel from Lydia. "I know, Lydia. Thank you." She stands and before Lydia can move, Allison wraps her arms around her. "You're a good friend."

When Allison steps back, Lydia smiles and flicks her hair over her shoulder. "I know. Now let me fix your hair up before we have to go talk business."

* * *

Everyone is quiet.

Scott knows he should say something. Start planning. He's the alpha. It's his responsibility now. He's just as shaken by the news. He doesn't know what to do.

The sheriff called while Stiles explained what he found at the crime scene and Isaac told them what he overheard. Kate's wasn't the only body stolen.

"If she's resurrecting people do we really want to stop her? If it works - "

"We don't know why she's doing it," Stiles interrupts. "She might be doing it to control them."

"It's Erica and Boyd," Isaac replies in a hollow voice. "If she brings them back - "

"And there's no way to know if it would really be them. Do you want to be the one that has to take them out because some necromancer made them mindless monsters and ordered them to hurt people?"

"Stiles," Scott interrupts.

His best friend bites his lip. He knows how Isaac feels, but Stiles is right. They don't know why this necromancer is bringing people back. They can't risk her bringing more people back.

"We'll have to search the preserve for her," Scott says quietly. "It's the only place she'll be able to try anything, if she hasn't already. But it might be too late. Isaac and I can try to find her by scent."

"I can track her from Erica and Boyd's graves," Allison says softly. "If she took them somewhere, there will be a trail."

Stiles shakes his head, arms folded across his chest. Scott raises his eyebrow and Stiles sighs. "She's an emissary. If she's powerful enough for resurrections, then she can hide her trail. Even her scent. Isaac said it was faint anyway. She'll know people are looking now. She won't take any chances."

"That’s what Derek said. Is there anything we can do?" Scott asks. "Anything to stop her from hiding it?"

"I can find out," Stiles says with a shrug, sounding unenthused. "Check the books. See if Deaton will tell me anything."

"Good," Lydia interrupts. "Then we should get moving. We only have a few hours left of light. We can look again tomorrow if we need to. I'll stay here and keep translating, looking for passages that reference necromancy or resurrections."

Scott grabs Stiles' arm before he can move. "Can we talk?"

Stiles sighs, but nods. Scott leads Stiles into the hallway. Allison borrows Lydia’s car keys and heads downstairs with Isaac. Scott waits until the front door closes. "What's wrong with you?"

Isaac nods and Allison follows him out. Scott leads Stiles into the hallway, waiting until the front door closes. "What's wrong with you?"

He meets Scott's eye, but only for a second. Then he looks at the floor. "Don't you feel it?"

"What?"

Stiles looks up, face contorted by frustration. "Like everything's falling apart. Like the nightmares aren't just nightmares. Like you're still stuck in one even when you're awake."

Scott looks down. He's quiet. "No. But...I haven't shifted."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I haven't shifted, Stiles. I've let my eyes change color, but that's it."

"Why?"

He closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of Lydia's keyboard from behind the closed door. "I keep dreaming that I shift and I look like Peter did. Every time I start to shift, it feels like I'm going to lose it. Like I won't be able to control it."

Stiles' heart is beating quickly. "What are we going to do? We can't keep this up. Allison's dreaming of her aunt killing her, you can't shift, and I think I'm losing my mind. How…how are we supposed to live like this?"

Scott shakes his head. "I don't know."

Neither of them move. They'll have to. He has to leave so he can help Isaac. Stiles has to talk to Deaton. They don't have time to worry about themselves. Not with a necromancer bringing people back from the dead and they don't know why.

But for a minute, he can stand with his best friend. They can stand in Lydia's hallway. He can press his shoulder against Stiles’ and try to ignore everything else. All Scott can think is that no matter how terrible a thought it is, he's happy he isn't alone.

* * *

Sara hates talking on the phone. If she could stand in front of John and Stiles, it would be so much easier. She would be able to hear their hearts, whether they picked up or slowed down depending on what she said. She could see how they reacted, figure out how they felt from the way they stood or the looks on their faces. She could smell whether he felt as nervous as she did.

All she has is a phone in her hand. It’s terrifying.

Niamh was Sara's best friend. They grew up together. She learned how to be a better werewolf because of Niamh. When she moved away and married John, Sara was thrilled even if it was harder to talk. John was and is a good man. Sarcastic and stubborn, but honest and determined. Worthy of being a pack mate.

Sara knows that she did not handle Niamh's death well. She promised Niamh that she would protect her family. But Sara just left. She should have talked to them or visited them. She is ashamed of herself.

Sara let her own grief blind her. Now she has to face them. All she can do is hope that they don't hate her for what she did as much as she hates herself.

She takes a deep breath, easily picking out Jade's heartbeat from downstairs. The rhythm calms her, helps her dial the number without stopping. It rings three times.

"Hello?"

Sara swallows. It isn't John who answers. "Stiles?"

There's a second of silence that feels stretched thin. "Aunt Sara?"

"Yeah," she replies, nerves unable to stop the smile.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

Sara bites her lip, cursing herself for feeling so nervous. She hates telephones. She hates them, she _hates them_. "No, I - I was thinking I might come visit."

"Really? You're coming back?"

She can't help but grin. As scared as Sara is about what seeing Niamh's family again might do to all of them, she can't help but feel happy. Just talking to Stiles feels good. "I've been away too long. I should have visited a long time ago."

"It's okay. We knew why you had to go."

"I still should have come back. You're family. I missed you two."

"Well, give it a few minutes when you get back. I'm sure you'll be regretting a visit then."

Sara laughs, relaxing as Stiles starts to joke. He is so much like Niamh. Sara finds that it’s not painful to note now. She's just relieved. His voice is deeper and he sounds like a man, but under that it's still _Stiles_. Still the little boy who would ask her if a giant lizard from space could really destroy an entire city.

"Tell me how things are with you two. It sounds like your dad has been having a rough time."

"We all have. It's, uh, kind of been a bad year. A really bad year."

She frowns at the way his voice changes. "I'm sorry. But things are better now?"

He sighs heavily and Sara wishes she could be with him. "Yeah. Things are better. Mostly. I think we might be getting there. Hopefully."

"He's still at work, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he won't be back until late tonight. I've just been trying to read. When are you coming?"

Sara bites her lip, trying not to be amused by his excitement. "I thought I'd leave tomorrow. Get to you by dinnertime?"

"Sounds awesome. I'll tell Dad."

'Thanks, Stiles. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah. Have a safe trip, Aunt Sara."

The line clicks and Sara sighs. She slips her phone back into her pocket and sits on her bed. Stiles sounds tired. The way his voice changed when he talked about how bad the year has been…

He sounded just like Niamh before she died. When she was terrified and everything started going so wrong. Before she got sick. Sara cannot help but wonder. Does he know what is _really_ happening in Beacon Hills? Why else would he sound like that?

"Everything okay?"

Sara looks up. Jade is standing in the doorway, hands in her pockets. Her hair is tied up under a scarf. She does it whenever she doesn’t want to fix her hair or it isn’t cooperating. Their closet door is covered with a rainbow of various scarves. Sara likes them. The patterns and designs always make Jade's freckles stand out.

"Yeah. I talked to Stiles."

"How long will you stay, do you think?"

"I don't know," Sara says with a shrug. "I think…I think Stiles might know what's really happening. He sounded tired and scared. If he's stuck in the middle of a supernatural war, I want to make sure he's safe before I come back." She looks up at Jade, biting her lip. "You're still coming? You and Banner?"

"Yes. We don't want you to be alone when we aren't sure what is really happening."

Sara stands, stepping forward so she can look up at Jade. Sara always considered herself tall, mostly because she was taller than Niamh and her mother. She feels tiny next to Jade. She's almost as tall as Sara's father and brother.

"Once I get there," she starts, "if things are okay with John and Stiles, I'll ask if you two can come stay too. They should have enough room, as long as Banner doesn't mind a couch."

Jade smiles and nods. "I'd like that. I want to meet them." She leans forward to kiss Sara lightly before smiling. "Now come on. Your dad's making dinner. You know how he gets if we're late."

"Or the table's not set. Or everyone doesn't psychically know the moment the food's ready." She follows Jade out of the room and down the stairs, able to hear her father in the kitchen. Her brother is bothering him, trying to steal a taste of whatever he's cooking. It drives her dad crazy, which is the only reason Banner really does it.

Sara falls into an easy rhythm with Jade, setting out enough plates and glasses and silverware for the entire pack.

* * *

 

Security is pathetic. It is child's play to sneak in. To avoid the cameras in the hallway. She moves down the hallway quietly. Lessons in stealth are ingrained into every muscle. Even if those muscles are still recovering from decay and atrophy.

Gerard Argent is sitting in a wheelchair, shoulders shaking with hacking coughs.

Kate steps forward and kicks the wheel. The chair topples to the ground and she circles it so he can see her. Her father looks up at her, eyes narrowing. "I wish I could say I was expecting this."

"It's nice to know some things can shock you," she says in a low voice. The anger is cold in her veins. Like ice freezing her from the inside out. "You don't know how long I have wanted this.  I did everything you asked. I never questioned you. And what do you do? You made Chris' wife our leader. You gave her what I trained my entire _life_ for. And then you become one of _them_. Traitor."

He sneers. "You were never going to be our leader. I would have died before I let _you_ lead us."

"I died for you," she spits at him. "I died _because_ of you."

Kate reaches forward, nails digging into his skin. She buries the knife in his neck. Blood sprays, but Kate doesn't care when it splatters against her face. What’s a little blood next to the ash and mud from her grave?

She drops him, stepping away and watching as the blood splatters against the tiled floor. He gasps for breath, black tar coating his lips. She watches with satisfaction as the gasps turn to gurgles and the blood begins to drip instead of spurt.

Gerard is the one who told her to destroy the Hales by any means necessary. She took all the blame. It is _his_ fault her throat was ripped out.

Now she is going to get revenge.

* * *

 

Erica wakes with a gasp.

She coughs and her throat feels raw. Her tongue is thick with the taste of blood and dirt. She gags on something bitter in the air. She can barely catch a breath. It feels like she just woke from a seizure. She can't think clearly. Everything’s too bright. She doesn't know where she is or how she got there. Something’s blocking her ears, everything muffled and incomprehensible.

Slowly, the postictal feelings start to fade. It isn't the same as after a seizure. Usually she feels exhausted and can hardly move, even after her muscles finally loosen. She starts to feel almost normal. Her muscles don't hurt anymore. She can hear clearly. Smell something other than the bitterness.

Dirt. Smoke. The crackling of a fire. Incense. A woman's voice. Wolfsbane. Lilies.

None of it helps her figure out where she is. She focuses, trying to smell more. Something that might help her understand what is happening. She inhales deeply. She can smell dry blood under the dirt and wolfsbane.

_Boyd._

Erica's eyes fly open and she sits straight up. Her throat vibrates with growls, claws digging into the earth. She sees a woman in a black cloak. She has a stick of incense in her hand. She's kneeling over Boyd.

She leaps at the woman. Before she can get within ten feet of her, she's thrown backwards. "I am not hurting you," the woman says as Erica sits up. "I am helping you."

Erica looks around. How did she get pushed back? She thinks they are on the preserve, but something is wrong. It doesn't smell like the rest of the preserve. It feels like something is watching her. There is a small fire next to the woman and a ring of mountain ash surrounding both her and Boyd.

"What are you doing to him?" Her voice sounds too low, too hoarse to her own ears.

"I am saving him. As I saved you."

Erica listens closely, but can't hear any heartbeats but her own and the woman's. "He's dead," she whispers, voice cracking. "You can't save him."

"You were dead too. Now you are alive." She turns back to Boyd, working with more plants over the fire. "Think. You will remember."

Erica clenches her fist, letting her claws bite into her palm. She forces herself to think, to try and remember where she was before waking up here. The pack of alphas. Cora. A bank vault.  Cora and Boyd screaming while the twins held them down.

_"Little beta wants a fight? She'll get a fight."_

She chokes, trying to fight the urge to throw up. She died. She was _dead_. She tried to fight an alpha and they killed her. They murdered her like it was a _game_ , making sure Cora and Boyd had to watch.

"How?"

The woman doesn't even look up at her. "How are you alive? Because I made it so."

"Why me? Why Boyd?"

"Does there need to be a reason?"

"Of course there is."

She smiles serenely. "Very well. I made a mistake. I cannot fix it, so I am trying to atone for it instead."

Erica swallows and her throat feels too small. The woman is too calm. Her heartbeat doesn't stutter or slow. Her breathing doesn't change. There is something wrong about her. Just like there is something wrong about this area of the preserve. Erica wants to reach out and drag Boyd away, take him out of her hands. She wants to take her claws and cut herself up, make sure that the woman didn’t do anything to change her.

She was _dead_. She shouldn't be alive.

"What are you?"

"Nothing of consequence. Far less spectacular than you and your friend. My name, however, is Lillian." She glances up and something in her eye changes. "How old are you?"

Erica resists the urge to bite the inside of her cheek. "Sixteen."

"So young," she says softly. "And your name?"

"Erica." She doesn’t know what to make of the woman. Why is Lillian asking her name? Her age? Why is she bringing them back to life? _How?_

"An old name. Powerful name. Suits you, I think." She turns back to Boyd, opening his mouth and placing a leaf on his tongue. "When I am finished, I will help you find your way from this place. It will not be easy for you on your own."

Erica pulls her knees up to her chest, only able to watch as Lillian continues working over Boyd's body.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Allison hasn't been on the preserve since the night of the eclipse. She was never sure why she didn't want to come back. She kept insisting that training could take place someplace else.

She knows why she didn't want to come back now. 

It's like she can feel the Nemeton. It felt the same yesterday, when she was trying to find the trail. Her skin crawls with every step and she tightens her grip on the crossbow. Her hand settles against the side of her jacket where the daggers are strapped to the inside. Her chest feels tight.

No. Not tight. It feels like there is a hand around her heart, grip tightening with every step she takes. It's the same feeling as when she wakes up after a nightmare.

Allison has to stop. She has to focus. She can't afford to lose track of the trail because she got distracted. Clinical. She has to be clinical. Clincial and unemotional. She can't let her fear and panic distract her.

She opens her eyes and focuses on the trail.

There are footprints, but they're faint. Too faint to track reliably. So Allison focuses on other signs. Broken sticks. Disturbed leaves. It’s almost impossible.  Just a lot of guesswork and Allison is out of practice.

She doesn't notice when the trees thin out. Not at first. Then she almost falls over the Nemeton.

Allison throws herself backwards. The hand around her heart tightens and Allison feels like she can't breathe. Her knuckles ache from her grip on her crossbow.

"Are you all right, child?"

She spins around. A woman stands to her right, on the very edge of the clearing. She has brown skin and a braid draped over her shoulder, hood covering her head.

She looks normal. Not what Allison expected a necromancer to look like.

Allison lifts her crossbow and aims it at the woman. It shakes in her hand and she tries to ignore the tremor. "Why are you here? Why are you trying to bring people back from the dead?"

She grins and Allison notices that she's holding a small, white flower. "You and your friends are clever. You are the hunter, correct?"

"Which means I won't hesitate to shoot you. Answer my question."

The woman smiles and it makes Allison's skin crawl. "Why don't we make a deal? I will answer your questions if you answer mine."

Allison freezes. She still doesn't know _what_ this woman is. It might be the necromancer, but it could be something else. What if making a deal like this has more meaning?

"I see you are wary. Good. It is a good instinct to have. I will go first, then. My name is Lillian. I am the necromancer your friends are searching for." Her smile twists into a smirk and Allison tightens her grip on the crossbow. Her hand is still shaking. She knows if she has to shoot, she won’t hit anything. "They won't find us."

"You're hiding the trail," Allison says. "You led me here."

She shakes her head and leans against a tree, eyes fixed on Allison. "I have answered your question. You will answer mine. You can lower your weapon. I am not here to hurt you."

"You still haven’t told me why you’re bringing people back from the dead."

Lillian looks down and Allison is surprised that she looks chagrined. "I made a mistake. My abilities do not often lead me astray. I should not have resurrected Katherine Argent. I did not know what she was. But I have, hopefully, made up for it."

Allison frowns and lowers her crossbow. She didn’t mean to, but she is too curios. "Erica and Boyd?"

"Alive and well. I believe your werewolf friends will stumble across them soon."

"Why? Why did you bring them back?"

"You must answer my questions as well, Ms. Huntress. You are connected to the Nemeton. It is what led you here. Why?"

She bites her lip. She doesn't want to tell Lillian anything. But this could be their best chance to know why someone is bringing people back from the dead.

"A darach was planning to sacrifice our parents. We saved them."

Lillian's eyes widen slightly. If Allison wasn't paying attention, she would probably miss how shocked the woman is by her answer. "You sacrificed yourself to it? Willingly?"

"We couldn't let her kill our parents."

"Do you have any idea what you have done, child?"

"Yes," Allison says defiantly. "We do. Now answer my question."

Lillian glares at her and Allison reaches for her daggers. Shaky hands wouldn’t hinder her much in close combat. "I am not playing with powers stronger than I am. I did not intend for any to be hurt because of my actions."

"You brought back a woman who murdered an entire family of people," Allison says, the hand around her heart tightening.

"As I said, it was a mistake. _You_ , however, gave power back to an object that could bring darkness and destruction everywhere. I am merely attempting to understand the relationship between magic and death."

Allison scoffs. "You aren't trying to understand anything," she spits out. "You're showing off."

Lillian steps towards her and Allison resists the urge to step back. She is not going to back down. They had to save their parents. This woman has no right to judge her.

"I am more powerful than you can imagine, foolish child. Those I bring back are ones who were lost before their time. Those who still feel a tie to the earth. Katherine Argent is the first mistake I have made in fifteen years."

"And bringing back Erica and Boyd doesn't make up for that. Not if Kate kills people again."

"An entire cemetery at my disposal with hundreds of bodies to pick from - do you think it is a coincidence that the spirit of a murderer is the one that called out to me? It is not simply bad luck. It is that _thing_. Influencing the world around it. That's what it _does_. It creates chaos. Destruction wherever it goes. And you gave it power to wreak havoc."

Allison bites her tongue and lifts her head. "It was going to have power no matter what. If we sat by and did nothing, then the darach would have done it and she'd be more powerful because of it. We did what we had to do."

Lillian stops, halfway between the line of trees and the Nemeton. She just looks at Allison. She feels like she's being studied. Tested for weakness. Allison keeps her hand around the hilt of her dagger. She grips her crossbow tightly even as it hangs at her side.

"You are very brave," Lillian finally says. "Foolish, but brave. Perhaps your actions will not have as severe an effect as I imagine."

"What are you talking about?"

She steps forward and Allison has to look up at her know. She hadn't realize just how tall the woman is, but Allison feels small next to her. "Others will be drawn here. Dark things. Monstrous things that you cannot imagine. Some may already be here or on their way. But you are strong. If your friends are as strong as you, perhaps all is not lost."

Lillian skirts around the Nemeton. Allison gets the feeling that she does not want to touch it. "I cannot stop Katherine Argent," she says as she walks away, "but I can help you. She will be weakened from the ritual. Her body will still be healing. Your werewolf friends will recover more quickly. Find her quickly, before she can find others to help her, and you can stop her from causing further harm."

Allison doesn't move to stop her from leaving the clearing. She knows that Lillian won't give her anything else. She will only insult her more. And more than anything, Allison wants to get away from the Nemeton. The closer she is to it, the tighter the hand around her heart squeezes.

She has to get back to Lydia and Stiles. She has to call Scott and Isaac. She has to get out of the preserve.

* * *

 

"Can you smell anything?"

Scott sighs and shakes his head. "No. Nothing."

They've been searching for hours for any hint of smoke. Some trace of incense or lilies. Anything that could lead them to the necromancer.

They haven’t found anything.

"We should head back," Scott says heavily. "At least back to the Hale house. We can see if there's a trail to pick up. Call Allison and see if she's found anything. Or if Stiles found a way to stop her from hiding her trail yet."

Isaac nods and it's hard for Scott to ignore the feelings he is getting from him. He knows that Isaac is worried and upset. The last thing Scott wants to do is argue. But Isaac isn't just upset at the situation, he's mad at _Scott_.

Scott doesn't want people to follow him because he bullies them into it. He doesn't want anyone to agree with him just because he's the alpha. He wants people to agree if they think his decision is the best to make.

"I want them to be okay too," Scott says quietly. "But Stiles is right. Just because we want them back doesn't mean they should actually come back. Not if it's more painful to them."

Isaac is quiet and Scott hopes that he hasn't made things worse. He and Isaac are still tiptoeing around each other. Scott isn't jealous. He's not. But it’s still awkward. Scott is still in love with Allison. Isaac knows that. Allison knows that.

Scott doesn't want to make things difficult for them. Just because he still loves Allison doesn't mean that she has to feel the same. She’s allowed to date other people. Scott doesn't get a say over that.

But they know how he feels. And it makes things awkward. Especially since he doesn't think they know how they feel about each other yet.

"They were my friends," Isaac finally says quietly. "The first people I actually called friends since my mother died."

Scott doesn't know what to say. He has no idea what it's like to be alone like that.

He and Stiles have always had each other. For as long as Scott can remember, he and Stiles have been friends. Stiles was there when his dad was still around. He was there when Stiles' mom started getting sick. He spent the night at Stiles' house whenever his mom didn't think it was safe at home. He remembers nights when he and his mom stayed with Stiles and the Sheriff before his dad left. Nights that he and Stiles would curl up together and pretend not to hear the other one cry.

Scott never realized just how lucky he is.

He hears a crash. Then the sound of cracking leaves and breaking twigs. He can hear two heartbeats, both too fast to mean anything good. Isaac's heart speeds up next to him.

Scott moves. He doesn't know what the noise is, but he isn't going to wait and find out. He runs through the trees, Isaac behind him. He can feel the urge to shift and has to force it down.

They make it about twenty feet before they both stop dead.

He knows Isaac smells it too. Smoke and incense. Lilies and wolfsbane. Erica and Boyd.

Scott's chest feels tight. For almost a year, he has had worse luck than he could ever have imagined. It hasn't all been terrible. Good has come from it too, but there's been so much bad. Scott just wants this one thing to be okay. He doesn't want to have to hurt Erica and Boyd. Even if it's not really Erica and Boyd.

"Erica? Boyd?"

Isaac's voice is tentative. Scott knows that he's terrified. He can hear how fast his heart is beating, can practically feel how tense his muscles are just by standing next to him.

At first, there's no answer. Just the sound of the heartbeats in his ears. Then he hears a voice. Soft and hoarse and almost lost in the wind.

"Isaac?"

Scott and Isaac sprint towards the voice.

Erica and Boyd are on the ground, covered in dirt and ash. Their eyes are glowing, claws digging into each other's skin. Scott can smell the remnants of wolfsbane. They both look too thin.

Scott can feel them. Knows that they're terrified just like he knows something is scaring Stiles and that Allison is furious. He steps towards them. He knows he can trust them. He can feel them. He knows it's them really them.

"Hey, guys," he says in a low voice. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay?"

Erica looks up at him. Her hair is tangled and filthy. It hangs in her face. If Scott didn't know it was Erica and Boyd, he isn’t sure if he would recognize them under the dirt. "Scott - it's too - we can't - "

Scott reaches them and touches Erica's wrist, leeching away her pain. He puts his other hand on Boyd's arm. He grits his teeth. It won't help the confusion, but he hopes it will help the fear. Help them get enough control to heal the claw marks. He watches both of them, only pulling away when their hands are human again and the wounds start to heal.

"We'll get you cleaned up, okay? Then you can get some rest."

He helps Erica up while Isaac pulls Boyd to his feet. Isaac glances at him nervously. "Where are we going? There isn't enough room at your house."

"Stiles has a guest room," Scott says, letting Erica lean on him. Isaac has one of Boyd's arms slung over his shoulders. Scott isn't sure how they're going to make it back to the Hale house. They have to be miles away and Erica and Boyd are hardly conscious.

He tightens his grip around Erica's waist. If they can make it to the road, they can call Stiles and he can bring the Jeep. It's closer than the Hale house and there's more room in the back than in Allison's car.

"How - how long - "

Scott glances over at Boyd. His eyes are wide and still glowing. He isn't sure if either of them are even lucid. "A few weeks," Isaac replies, voice tight and strained.

"The alphas - "

"They're gone," Scott says firmly. "The darach too. We took care of it. Them. We'll explain everything."

It feels like an eternity before they make it to the road. He and Isaac help Boyd and Erica to the ground. They curl up with each other and squeeze their eyes shut. Scott pulls out his phone and dials Stiles' number.

It goes to voicemail.

Scott frowns. Stiles always answers his phone. He's paranoid about missed calls or texts. For as long as he has had a phone, he has made sure that it is only off when absolutely necessary. He doesn't think he's heard Stiles' voicemail message in years.

He hangs up and calls the sheriff. He doesn't want to think about why Stiles isn't picking up. Hopefully he just got distracted by research. Maybe he and Deaton figured something out. It doesn't have to mean anything is wrong.

The sheriff picks up. Scott barely has a word out before he can hear Stiles screaming through the static of the phone.

* * *

Stiles doesn't know where he is.

He remembers trying to read the books Deaton gave him. He remembers watching the letters shift and scramble before his eyes.  He remembers throwing the book across the room, unable to force his eyes to work. Trying to force himself to wake up.

It's dark. He holds his hand up and can't see it in front of his face. He can't breathe. It feels like he has something wrapped around his chest. His lungs won't expand. If he could just catch his breath it would be okay. If he can just breathe everything will be all right.

Floodlights flash on and Stiles is blinded by it. Everything is white. Spots blur his vision. He still can't tell where he is. All he can see is a long hallway. All white and never-ending.

He walks. The farther he walks, the longer the hallway seems. The walls move closer around him. He tries not to look at them. Tries to ignore that it looks like hands are trying to push through the walls. Like they're trying to reach him. He can see the end of the hallway, the Nemeton waiting in shadows.

He can't breathe. The hands are touching him now and he has to close his eyes. It's not real. It can't be real. It can't _hurt_ him. It's just a dream. _It's just a dream._

Stiles' eyes fly open and he can finally breathe. He's sitting at his desk, books open in front of him. It's dark outside. He can feel his hands shaking and tightens his grip on the edge of his desk. His knuckles ache, but he curls his fingers tighter.

He closes his eyes and breathes. Counts to five before he exhales and then another five before he inhales. The ache in his chest starts to fade and he opens his eyes.

His bedroom door is open, but he can't see the hallway. There's just darkness. It’s thicker than the shadows he's used to at night. It feels like there's something there. Waiting for him or watching him.

He should close the door. He should close the door and call Scott or Lydia or Allison. He should close it and call his dad. Close his eyes and wait until he knows what is happening.

Stiles stands. The door seems far away. Farther than it should be. He grips the doorknob tightly. For a second, he wavers.

He pulls the door towards him and steps into the darkness. 

* * *

 

John is barely in the door when his phone rings. He sighs and shuts the door behind him before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He hopes it isn't the station. The last thing he wants to do is get called back in on an emergency. Not after spending the entire day looking at desecrated graves.

It's Scott.

He frowns and answers. If Scott says anything, John can’t hear him. He can't hear anything over Stiles' screams.

John is up the stairs and in his son's bedroom in seconds. Stiles is flailing wildly in his desk chair, screaming like something is trying to kill him. John doesn't hesitate. Muscle memory takes over. He grabs his son, one arm hooking over Stiles' shoulder and the other wrapping around his waist. He drags Stiles to the floor, trying to hold him as still as he can.

Stiles keeps screaming. John holds him tighter and Stiles' hands grasp at his arms.

"Stiles - _Stiles_ \- wake up. Wake up, it's okay. Stiles," John tries to keep his voice as calm as he can. Stiles starts to quiet, voice cracking and going hoarse.

"Dad - " he chokes out.

John grips him tightly, knowing that his hold is probably painful. He can't relax. Not even when Stiles stops struggling. He’ll be lucky if he can make it through this with even a facade of calm. "It's okay. Just a dream. It was just a dream, kiddo. Breathe, okay? We're all right. Everything's okay."

" _Dad_ , I can't - I need - "

John spreads his hand over the left side of Stiles chest. He can feel his heart racing, the way his chest hardly rises or falls as he tries to breathe. "Breathe with me, Stiles. Count to five. Focus on the counting, okay? Just focus on that."

Stiles nods and John counts in his ear, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest so that Stiles can feel the movement against his back. He presses his cheek against the top of Stiles' head. He keeps breathing, counting evenly to match their breathing.

Finally, Stiles relaxes against him. He goes limp in John's grip. John holds him tighter. He remembers Claudia waking up with screams and terror. He remembers Stiles waking up in the middle of the night not long after, scared and always asking questions. He remembers having to hold them both while they struggled to breathe.

John thought those nights were over. He had hoped those nights were over.

He opens his eyes. His phone is laying on the floor a few feet away. He keeps holding onto Stiles with the arm over his shoulder, but picks it up. "Scott? You still there?"

"What's happening? Is Stiles okay?"

"Everything's fine," he says, propping the phone on his shoulder and holding it there with his ear. He tightens his grip on Stiles, wincing when his son's nails bite into his forearm to hold his arm in place. "Just a nightmare. Why did you call?"

"Are you sure he's okay? He sounded - "

Stiles turns enough to take the phone from John's shoulder. His other hand keeps a tight grip on John's arm. "I'm fine, Scott," he says in a hoarse and completely unconvincing voice. "What's going on?"

John is close enough that he can still hear Scott. So when Stiles stiffens in his arms again, he isn't surprised.

"We found Erica and Boyd."

"They're - okay?" Stiles stumbles over the words and John squeezes Stiles' shoulder, rubbing roughly when he feels how tense the muscles are.

"Yeah. Shaken up and still healing, but I think they'll be okay."

John takes the phone from Stiles, putting it on speaker before holding it in front of them. "Call your mom, Scott. Bring everybody here. We'll be ready for you, okay?"

"Okay, Sheriff. Is Stiles really - "

"Dude," Stiles says, sounding more like himself, "I'm okay. Just get everybody here safe, all right?"

"See you soon."

John sets the phone back down on the floor. "How you doing, kiddo?"

Stiles lets out a shaky breath. John can feel the way it rattles his chest. "I didn't know it was a dream," he says, words falling out of his mouth. "Everything kept changing around me and I couldn't tell what was real. How do I know if I'm awake, Dad? How can I - there were hands and _voices_ and -"

"Hey, shh. It's okay. We'll figure it out, all right? You're okay."

John squeezes Stiles' shoulder. "Dad - "

"Need a distraction?"

Stiles freezes and nods. "Please."

"Okay. How about you get the guest room ready? Find some clothes that might fit Erica and Boyd."

John waits for Stiles to nod and then gets his feet under him, pulling Stiles up when he stands. He sways and John keeps a hand on his shoulder. He avoids John's eyes.

"Hey. Everything's going to be fine, all right?"

He can tell that Stiles is chewing on his tongue. He pulls Stiles forward, hugging him tightly. Stiles sags against him and John holds him up. Stiles is almost taller than him now, but right now he's all of eight years old again. Still small enough that John could pick him up if he really needed to.

"I promise, kid. Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

It feels like a dream.

Everything is too loud. Every light too bright and smell too sharp. But he can think again. He's alive. _Erica_ is alive.

She is pressed against his side, the smell of death inescapable in the back of Mrs. McCall's car. It clings to both of them. She is holding his hand hard enough to hurt, but he doesn't care. They're alive.

He closes his eyes. The stars burn his eyes. He tries to focus on taste. His mouth tastes bitter and smoky, but it isn't painful. It's the only thing that doesn't hurt.

Boyd almost doesn't notice when the car stops. He only opens his eyes when he feels Isaac touch his arm. He's bent over, the door open.

"We're here," he says, voice purposefully pitched low. It still makes Boyd want to flinch.

He doesn’t let go of Erica's hand when they get out of the car. He knows that they're with pack. If he lets go, nothing bad will happen. But the thought of not being able to feel her pulse against his makes it hard to breathe.

They are led inside. Ushered upstairs and into the bathroom. Given clean clothes and towels.

For a moment, all Boyd can do is stare at the tiles. Erica pulls him forward, turning the water on for a shower. The sound of it is like a wall of sound. He flinches backwards and sees Erica wince. But she moves quickly, undressing before gripping his hand again. He does the same, but his fingers are clumsy.

They climb into the shower together. Boyd closes his eyes. There’s something wrong with him. He can feel each individual drop of water against his skin. Feel the dirt wash down his back. He can hear the water moving through the pipes, the rushing too loud. He can't focus on anything, all of the sounds and touches trying to push into his brain at once. It's too much.

Erica touches his cheek. He opens his eyes. She smiles at him and starts to wash the dirt from his face. Then his shoulders. He starts washing his lower body, bending his head so that Erica can reach.

He can still hear the filthy water rushing down the drain. But he can focus on Erica's heartbeat. He can breathe.

There isn't enough room to bend over to wash his legs, so he spins them. When Erica is under the spray of water, he starts working the water through her hair. It's tangled and matted with dirt, but he works his fingers through each knot as gently as he can. She squirms under the attention, trying to wash the rest of the filth from her body as he works.

When they turn the water off, it’s quiet. He can still hear the sound of people moving downstairs, but it doesn't hurt as much as the sound of the water. The towel is rough against his skin, but he feels clean. He can smell Erica without the dirt or wolfsbane or death burning his nose.

She slips her hand into his as soon as they're dressed in clothes that smell like Stiles and his father. She smiles up at him and opens the door. Isaac is waiting outside.

"What do you need?"

Boyd doesn't know how to answer. He still feels overwhelmed, able to focus on too little and too much all at once. Erica answers.

"Sleep. Everything is still…"

Isaac nods and leads them down the hallway. "Stiles said you could stay in the guest bedroom."

He touches Boyd's shoulder as they pass him, heading for the bed. Boyd wonders how they took care of the alphas. How they stopped the darach. Where Derek is and why they aren't at the loft. When the sheriff found out about everything.

Erica leads him to the bed and he hears Isaac close the door behind them. He lies down on the bed and Erica immediately curls up next to him. He feels warm and safe..

He closes his eyes. Erica's hair is soft against his cheek, her smell thick and clean in his nose. He listens to the sheriff in the kitchen. Glasses clink and cabinets clang shut. Stiles is talking, but Boyd doesn't pay attention to the words. He listens to the way his voice rises and falls, how it mixes with Scott's and his father's. He can hear Derek's voice, distorted by static.

Boyd never considered the pack his friends. Erica was his friend. He could probably call Cora a friend. Isaac maybe. Everyone else was just…there. But he listens to them downstairs and can't help but feel fond. Like they’re important to him too.

Maybe Lillian didn't bring him back right. Boyd has never felt so sentimental before.

Erica's breathing evens out, heartbeat settling into a slow rhythm against his chest. The sounds fade away and Boyd falls asleep quickly.

* * *

 

Kate watches from the shadows. She knows how to keep herself hidden. Hiding herself from a hunter isn't nearly as difficult as hiding herself from a werewolf. It's easy. Especially since Allison is so busy worrying about something that isn’t there. It looks like her niece is hallucinating.

Silly little Allison. Kate warned her. Werewolves are dangerous. She should have listened. Should have put all of them down before the monster had a chance to rip Kate's throat out.

But no. Her brother and niece had to think about the precious _code_.

The code doesn't protect anyone. It only gets people killed. They don't need a code to kill monsters. That's what her brother doesn't understand. What Allison doesn't understand.

Kate watches her niece move through the preserve. Her hands shake and she keeps looking around like she is somewhere else. Whatever the woman did to bring her back must still be affecting her, because Kate can tell that there is something wrong with Allison. Something different. Something that might not be completely human.

Which is why Kate is watching her. Killing Gerard was revenge. It was Kate's _right_. Killing the monsters still crawling around the city is her duty.

Only time will tell if she has to add Allison and Chris to the list of necessary casualties.

 


	5. Chapter 5

They are a few hours from Beacon Hills when his phone rings. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Cora straightens in the seat next to him, turning to face him. He digs the phone out of his pocket, gripping it tight enough that the plastic squeaks under his hands.

"We're an hour out," he says quickly.

"Good," Stiles says. "That's good, because we've got a situation. So many situations. More situations than we can actually handle."

"Something else happened."

Stiles sighs and Derek can hear talking in the background. "Scott told you about the necromancer, right? Well, Allison found her in the woods and nearly got killed when she found out what we did with the Nemeton. Scott can't shift without feeling like he's going to lose it, I am _actually_ losing my mind. Oh, and Isaac and Scott found Erica and Boyd on the preserve. They're upstairs sleeping."

Derek swears and swerves. Cora snatches the phone from him. "Say that again," she growls.

"Fuck," Stiles swears. "Damn it. I didn't - Sorry, I just - "

_"Stiles."_

"Erica and Boyd are alive. They're asleep in my guest room. Scott ad Isaac found them."

Derek can hear Cora's heart beating like it's trying to burst from her chest. "They're - are they - "

"They're okay. For the most part. I think their brains are still healing? Their senses are even more super-powered than usual."

He reaches over and plucks the phone out of Cora's hand. "Do we know why?"

"Why what? Why the necromancer chose them? Why she chose Kate?" Stiles sighs and Derek hears a thud that he thinks might be Stiles hitting his head against something. "Allison talked to her. She was tracking her on the preserve and ended up at the Nemeton. Her name's Lillian. Said she made a mistake, bringing Kate back. That she brought Erica and Boyd back to try and…make amends, or something. Allison thinks she's doing it just because she can. She spouted some bullshit about understanding death and magic or something."

"Is there a plan?"

"For what? For Lillian or Kate? I don't think Lillian's sticking around."

Cora tries to grab the phone from him again, but he moves it to his left hand. "She isn't the problem anymore. If Kate's back and out for revenge - "

"She'll probably be coming for us. Right."

"Wait for us, all right? We'll be there soon."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Uh...sorry, by the way."

Derek frowns. "For what?"

"That you have to come back. It sucks. You two should get to have the full road-trip bonding experience. You know, crappy motels and bad food and weird tourist traps and not getting almost killed?"

Cora scoffs next to him, slouching in her seat again. Derek rolls his eyes. "Yes, it's such a tragedy that we have to miss all of that."

"Dude, you know what I mean. You both deserve - "

"I get it, Stiles," Derek interrupts. "Thanks. Now shut up and go be useful."

Whatever Derek was expecting, it wasn't a sigh. "Easier said than done, man. See you guys soon."

The phone clicks and Derek shoves it back into his pocket. He can hear Cora's heart still beating in the silence of the car. He knows his isn't any calmer.

"They're alive," Cora says. Her voice is soft. Quiet. She almost sounds like the little girl who would sneak into his room after her bedtime, begging for one more story.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to feel. So he reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. She sighs and relaxes under the touch. Before he returns his hand to the wheel, he moves his hand so he can mess up her hair.

She smacks his arm, but laughs. Derek can't help but think maybe things are getting better. Erica and Boyd are alive. They're okay. After dealing with Kate and then Lillian, maybe things will be okay.

* * *

"I don't like this."

Sara rolls her eyes. Beacon Hills is less than 100 miles from home and Banner spent the entire ride detailing why it is a terrible idea for Sara to go alone. Jade grins at Sara and shakes her head, heading to the front desk of the hotel to check in.

"I'm serious, Sara. This is stupid. I don't know why Granny Rem agreed to it."

"Because Remy trusts me, Banner," Sara replies, raising an eyebrow at her brother.

"It's not about trust. It's about what might be too much for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've had trouble with your anchor ever since Niamh died. What are you going to do if something happens? Jade and I won't be there. You could lose control and you already blame yourself enough. The last thing you need is something else to add onto that."

Sara bites her lip and looks out the window. Banner's not wrong. But he isn't right either. Sara knows that there won't be danger of her losing control. Not with John and Stiles. It's been over eight years, but Sara knows that Stiles and John will be as much of an anchor now as they were the last time she saw them.

Niamh was her best friend. Niamh's family is her family, no matter how long it's been.

"I know I don't have a great track record with control. But I'm going to be okay. Stiles and John are as much of an anchor as Niamh was. As you and Jade are. I'll be fine."

Banner shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't like it."

"What about you? Are you going to be okay?"

He glances at her, frowning. "What, because of the treatments? I can do them here just as well as I can do them at home. Jade helps me there too."

"I know. But you've never had to do it away from the entire pack before."

Banner rolls his eyes, slouching in his seat even further. "It's fine, Sara. If I thought I couldn't handle it, I would have stayed home and sent Aunt Orla or Jordan."

"It's not that I don't think you can handle it. I just know how hard it is on you. It shouldn't be so hard."

He shrugs. "At least we have a way for it to actually work now. Werewolf healing is not always helpful."

The last few years haven't been easy for Banner. Hours and hours of therapy and when he's finally approved for hormone treatment, they have to spend another six months finding someone who was in the know about werewolves and willing to find a way for the treatments to actually _work_ on Banner.

It was a pain in the neck and only finally paying off in the past few months.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

He nods and meets her eye. "And you? You're _positive_ you won't lose control?"

"I'm sure."

"Make sure you call, all right? Don't leave us in the dark. Text us and call. We can be there in ten minutes if we have to."

Sara laughs. "How? I'm taking the car."

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. Sara hopes he'll grow out of the teenaged phase soon. He's twenty-six. It should be about time.

"You think I don't know how to steal a car? That Jade wouldn't force me to do it if you needed us?"

Sara bites her lip to try and hold back the smile. She knows they would. Jade climbs into the backseat. "We're around back. Room 217."

She nods and drives to the back of the building, parking in front of their room. They climb out of the car and Sara grabs Jade's bag from the trunk. Her hair is tied up in a red scarf today, curls sticking out the back.

"You'll be careful, right? No stupid stunts?"

Sara rolls her eyes. "I already got this speech from Banner."

Jade slips her hand between Sara's fingers, pulling her close. "Yeah, and you need all the reminders you can get. First sign of trouble, call us. Okay?"

"Okay. Now who do I have to beg for a kiss goodbye?"

"Hey, I'll beg you to _not_ kiss me," Banner interrupts, closing the trunk after pulling out his duffel bag and backpack.

Sara rolls her eyes, but Jade bends forward and kisses her before she can reply. Sara closes her eyes. She and Jade have been living in each other's pockets for a long time now. It’s been a while they'll be separated for more than a day or two. Sara hopes John and Stiles have enough room for all three of them. That they won't mind the extra company.

"I love you," Jade says when she pulls away. "Stay safe."

"I will. Love you too. Look after Banner."

Jade smiles. "Get going."

Sara grins and stands on her toes to kiss Jade again before heading back to the driver's side of her car. She waits until Jade and Banner are inside before she leaves. It isn't a long drive to the Stilinski's. They found the hotel closest to Beacon Hills without actually being in Beacon Hills.

The closer she gets to the town, the more a strange feeling of dread falls over her. At first she thinks it's just her own anxiety. Her nerves at seeing the Stilinski's again. But it's too pervasive. Something is very wrong with this town.

She pulls up in front of the house and feels a chill down her spine. It looks the same, except there are more cars in the driveway than she expected. The cruiser and the Jeep are both there, but there are two other cars as well.

Sara takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. She's a little early, but it doesn't change the fact that it's time. She should have come back years ago. There's no use in wasting anymore time.

She walks up the brick path and hesitates at the door. Just for half a second. Then she rings the doorbell.

* * *

 

Stiles sits at the dining room table, slumped over in his chair and watching through the doorway as his dad and Scott's mom try to find enough food to feed four werewolves and five humans. Scott is sitting on his left and Lydia has her laptop and notes spread out in front of her on his right.

"Derek's right. We need to prioritize." Lydia is as matter-of-fact as ever. "Kate is the one causing harm."

"We don't know where she is or what she's planning to do. How, exactly, are we supposed to find her?" Isaac interrupts from the corner.

"And what do we do when we find her?" Allison asks quietly. She's sitting across from Stiles on the very edge of her chair. She looks tense and tired and scared. Stiles can sympathize.

"Well, it's not like she's going to come peacefully," Stiles says, scratching his chin before folding his arms across his chest. "I doubt she'll give us much of a choice."

"We can't just kill her, Stiles. She's Allison's aunt."

Stiles nods, glancing at Allison. "Yeah, and she killed Derek's entire family. She tried to kill you and she just killed her own father. And something tells me she isn't going to be happy that Allison is part of a werewolf pack. There's only so much we can do when someone is gunning for us."

"It's fine, Scott," Allison interrupts. "Stiles is right. If she wanted Gerard dead, she probably wants me and my dad dead too."

No one says anything. Stiles can hear his dad ordering pizzas over the phone. "Our first priority is containment," Lydia says simply. "All we need to worry about right now is containing the threat."

"Yes, but how do we _find_ her?" Isaac repeats.

Lydia does not reply. Stiles glances at her. He can tell that she is thinking. She taps her fingers against the table and Stiles knows. He _knows_ how they can get Kate.

"We don't have to," he says, sitting up straight.

They look at him expectantly and Stiles rolls his eyes. Scott and Allison, at least, should know what he's thinking. They were there when Kate died. In fact, they were there when Stiles wasn't.

"Why kill Gerard? I mean, he wasn't even here when she died. He tried to wage a freaking war on her behalf. Why would Kate want to kill him?"

Allison looks up, staring at him in shock. "She said she was doing what she was told to do. You think Gerard - "

"Would you really put it past him? I mean, he wasn't exactly following the rules of hunters _before_ the fire. He's told us that much. Maybe he knew that Kate wouldn't care about breaking the code."

"Why kill Gerard, though?" Isaac asks.

"Because Peter killed her," Scott says before Stiles can. "He was killing everyone who had anything to do with the fire."

"She probably blamed Gerard for getting her killed."

"This is all speculation," Lydia interrupts. "We don't know if any of this is actually true or not. And it doesn't help us find her."

Stiles pushes his chair back and stands. "But it does. Because if she's out for revenge - "

"Then she'll go after Peter," Allison says, dimples stopping her from hiding the smirk.

Lydia's eyes widen for a moment before she smiles viciously. "So we use Peter as bait. I don't suppose there's any chance we could let her kill him before trapping her, is there?"

Stiles snorts. "I wouldn't say no to that."

"So we use Peter as bait and then…what? Tie her up and decide what to do with her?" Isaac asks incredulously. "From what you've said, I don't think it'll be that easy."

"She'll be outnumbered," Scott says. "Maybe we could - "

He's cut off when the doorbell rings. Stiles frowns. Unless Chris decided he was going to come and join the party or pizza delivery learned to teleport, there shouldn't be anyone -

 _"Shit,"_ Stiles swears, racing for the door. His dad is halfway there already. "Dad, wait. I forgot. Shit, I completely _forgot_ \- "

His dad raises an eyebrow. "Forgot what, Stiles?"

"Aunt Sara called. Asked if she could come and visit and then everything started going to hell and I forgot - "

He folds his arms across his chest. "So what's the plan, then? We lie? We have to find a way to explain why two of your friends are up in the guest room."

Stiles bites his lip. Sara is family as much as his dad is. They haven't seen each other in years, but she was his mom's best friend. She would come every other weekend when he was a kid and they'd watch movies or go to the arcade. He's pretty sure that she's the only person who he could say, "werewolves and magic exist," and she would just reply with "sure."

He doesn't want to lie to her. He spent enough time lying to his dad. If Sara is going to visit again like she used to, he doesn't want to have to lie.

"What if we tell her the truth?"

"You sure?"

He drags his hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah. I don't…I'm sick of lying."

"Well, don't make her wait, then."

Stiles grins and turns, swinging the door open. Sara looks just like he remembers. Her hair is just as blonde and just as messy as he remembers - he used to think she looked like Rapunzel after going through a wind tunnel. He grins and wraps his arms around her shoulders, completely disoriented by how much taller he is than her now.

"Did you have to get so damn _tall?”_

"Please," he retorts, unable to keep the grin from his face, "you've always been short. I just finally caught up to everyone else."

Sara steps back, rolling her eyes. She looks at him carefully, almost like she's assessing him. Checking for injuries or something. She smiles, but Stiles thinks it might be smaller than it used to be. More strained. He wonders if she thinks the same thing about him.

"I’m above average height, thank you very much.” She smiles. “You look good, Stiles."

"How was your trip? Okay?"

"Same as always. Boring. Where's your dad? Trying to hide from me?"

"If Stiles would let you in the door, I'd be able to say hello too."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but steps aside so Sara can come inside. He closes the door behind her. He watches as she just looks at his dad, biting her lip. Finally, his dad rolls his eyes and hugs her too.

When they separate, she adjusts the strap of the bag over her shoulder. "What's with all the cars outside? I know it's been a while, but you didn't have to throw a party."

Stiles laughs and rubs the back of his neck again. "Yeah, no. We actually kind of need to talk. It's going to sound all kinds of ridiculous, but hear me out. Okay? I swear I can prove it."

Sara frowns, suddenly serious. The only other time he ever saw her look so serious was when his mom got sick. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh…mostly? I mean, I think we have most of it under control right now." He sighs and rubs his face. It feels like his arms and legs are full of static. He can't keep still. "You know how you said you've heard things have been bad? Well, it's been a lot worse than what you see on the news."

"Stiles - "

"Just hear him out, Sara," his dad interrupts.

"No, I think I - "

"Werewolves are real," Stiles spits out. His dad groans, but Stiles focuses on Sara.

She's pinching the bridge of her nose like his dad always does when Stiles has done something particularly frustrating. "Aunt Sara, I'm not lying, okay? This is real. Scott - you remember Scott, right? - he got bitten by a werewolf like a year ago. He can come show you."

Sara holds up her hand and Stiles stops talking. "I don't need him to show me, Stiles."

"You believe me? Just like that?"

She runs her hand through her hair again. She sighs in frustration. "I don't need to believe you. I already know."

Stiles glances at his dad and is pretty sure that the looks on their faces are ones of matching disbelief. "You…already know?"

Sara doesn't reply. She sighs loudly and closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're not brown anymore. They are bright blue.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Stiles groans.

* * *

Scott frowns when Stiles runs for the door. He glances at Allison and Isaac and Lydia. Then he hears Stiles talking to his dad.

"What's going on?" Allison asks, back straight for the first time since they got to Stiles' house.

"Stiles' aunt is here."

Lydia frowns and raises an eyebrow. "Stiles has an aunt? I didn't think he had any other family."

"Well, I mean, technically Sara's not actually his aunt. But she was his mom's best friend. I mean, her family practically raised Mrs. S. She used to visit every other weekend when we were kids."

"Used to. Meaning she doesn't anymore. So what's she doing here now?"

Scott looks up at Isaac. He wonders if Stiles and Isaac are ever going to get along or if they'll always be sniping at each other. "She stopped coming a few months after the funeral. It wasn't exactly easy for any of them."

Isaac looks properly chagrined. Scott can hear Sara and itches to join them at the door. He can remember how awesome she was, how much Stiles looked forward to her visits. He remembers sitting with Stiles and Sara at Mrs. S' hospital bed while his mom and the sheriff were working. They would play cards or Sara would tell them stories to pass the time.

"So what do we do now? We can't exactly keep discussing this if Stiles' aunt is staying," Allison says, pushing her chair back.

"Well, we can't go anywhere until Derek and Cora get here," Lydia replies. "Besides, Erica and Boyd are upstairs. It wouldn't be very polite to just leave them here."

Scott turns towards the door. He can hear Stiles say, "Werewolves are real. So is magic and I might be able to use it?"

He groans. Stiles really needs to figure out a better way to break that news to people. "He's telling her the truth," Scott says.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Just like that? When he didn't tell his own father for months?" Isaac asks incredulously.

_"Isaac."_

Isaac just looks at him with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Do you have to - " He cuts himself off when he hears Stiles swear. That can't be a good sign.

A minute later, Stiles and his dad are leading Sara into the dining room. She doesn't look much different, but she's biting her lip. Scott looks to his best friend. "What's going on?"

He watches as Stiles sits heavily next to Lydia. The sheriff sits at the head of the table, on Lydia's other side. Sara stands in the doorway, eyes flitting from Scott to Lydia and Isaac and Allison.

"Hi, Scott," she says quietly. "Been a while."

He nods and glances at Stiles again. "Hey, Sara."

"You should probably show them, Sara," the sheriff says, rubbing his forehead.

She sighs and closes her eyes. "Yeah, okay. So…" She trails off, and opens her eyes. They're glowing blue like Derek's and Peter's do.

Scott can feel his eyes widen. "You're a _werewolf?"_

Her eyes fade back to brown and she shrugs, sitting next to Allison and across from Stiles. "From what I hear, you are too." She looks up at Stiles as Scott sits at the only free seat. "I guess you have a lot of questions."

"No kidding," Stiles scoffs.

"I have some too, though."

Stiles is looking at Sara in confusion. "You heard about everything going on here, didn't you? Is that why you came back?"

Scott wonders if they should be here. He glances at Allison and can tell she's just as uncomfortable. Before Sara can reply, he stands again. He doesn't bother with an excuse, just gestures to Isaac and the others to follow him into the kitchen.

His mom is waiting by the counter, pulling sodas out of the fridge. She raises an eyebrow when they all stumble in. "Something going on?"

"Sara's here," he says. "She's a werewolf."

"Things were getting a little…awkward," Allison says, leaning against the counter.

"Okay. Well how about instead of just standing around, we actually get something done?"

Scott frowns. "Like what?"

She rolls her eyes. "You and Isaac can go pick up the pizzas. Lydia can run me to our place so we can pick up some clothes that might actually fit Erica and Boyd when they wake up. Allison should wait here for Derek and Cora."

Scott blinks in shock. Sometimes he forgets just his mom is awesome. Like, super awesome. She hands him the keys to the car. Before he leaves, he listens carefully. Stiles' heartbeat is fast, but not distressingly so. The sheriff's heartbeat is as steady as always.

He heads out to his mom's car, hoping that Stiles and his dad can figure out everything they need to before everything goes to hell.

* * *

 

Stiles' friends leave and Sara is suddenly hyper aware of the tension in the room. "I was worried about you," she says quietly. "The things we've heard…I was scared. I didn't - " She closes her eyes and takes a breath.

She needs to speak clearly. She can't screw this up. It's John and Stiles. She can't afford to mess it up. "I wanted to make sure both of you were safe. I was worried that the rumors were true and you wouldn't know you were in danger. But I should have come back a long time ago."

"How long? Are you part of a pack?"

Sara runs a hand through her hair. "I've always been a werewolf. And yes, I have a pack. Most of my family members are werewolves. I'm alpha inherit."

Stiles frowns. "Alpha inherit?"

"Yes. When my grandmother decides she is no longer fit to be an alpha or dies, I will be alpha."

Stiles looks at her, eyes so wide that she has to hold back a laugh. "It's genetic?"

"Well, it depends on the alpha. And it isn't the only way. If another werewolf killed Remy for some reason, then they would take her power. It usually only happens if a pack is stable and established and there's no chance the alpha or inherit will suffer an untimely death."

Stiles leans forward, hands moving as he speaks. "So basically, she can just decide who gets to be alpha after her? And she can let that happen at any time? She doesn't have to die first?"

Sara shrugs. "I think so. I mean, we haven't discussed it thoroughly. Most alphas die before they consider themselves unfit. But it's possible to pass the power on. I think."

"At some point in the very near future, I am going to make you write down everything you know about lycanthropy. And I mean _everything_."

She doesn't try to hide her smile anymore. "Francis has a library. Frankly, I'm surprised you know as much as you do. How did Scott get bitten?"

Stiles sighs and takes a deep breath. "Well, Peter Hale killed his niece so he could be alpha and go on a bloody revenge-spree and kill everyone involved with the fire. He bit Scott and then we helped Derek kill Peter. Then Derek started biting teenagers because I'm pretty sure the power went to his head. There were a few weeks there where he was making epically bad decisions even by his standards."

John groans and holds out a hand. "Slow down, kid."

"What?"

"Just saying maybe getting the chessboard out again wouldn't be a bad idea."

Sara bites her lip around a smile. Stiles is glaring at John, affronted and looking just like his mother. "So most of what you know comes from Derek, then?"

Stiles shrugs. "Mostly. Peter too. He didn't stay dead for very long. But we try not to believe anything he says without a second opinion." He sits up straight, narrowing his eyes. "So, what do the blue eyes mean?"

"What did he tell you it means?"

"Well, he said it means a werewolf killed an innocent person. But eyes mystically changing because they could somehow tell the difference between a guilty person and an innocent one? I'm not buying it."

She frowns. "Why would he say _that?"_

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Well, at the time he was trying to feed me some story about how Derek is a tortured soul because he had to kill his first love because she was dying a slow death. But he is literally the most unreliable narrator ever."

"That's not what it means. Having blue eyes isn't…I don't think anyone agrees on what it really means," Sara says softly. "Not even our legends match up and none of the theories have enough evidence. As far as my grandfather can tell, werewolves with blue eyes are those that have been close to death. It's rare."

“Close to death like you almost died? Or close to death like ‘now I can see thestrals’?”

Sara shrugs. “Francis thinks it can be both under the right circumstances. It’s not always permanent. He doesn’t have an answer for it yet. Everyone has their own idea. Like how every Bible has a different translation or interpretation.”

"So your eyes,” John says. “They're not because you almost died, are they? They're because of Claudia."

She sighs. It's been a long time since she heard anyone call Niamh by her middle name. The pack only ever called her Niamh, but when she got to high school she was sick of people mispronouncing it. She went by Claudia after that, except with the pack. Sara was hoping to avoid conversations like this. She wishes that she let Jade and Banner come with her.

"Yes. They've been blue since Niamh died."

"Did she know?" Stiles' voice is quiet. Sara remembers how small he was when Niamh was in the hospital. His feet barely brushed the floor when he sat down. She remembers sitting in the hallway with him while the doctors did useless tests. She remembers him asking questions she couldn't answer in the same quiet voice. She felt helpless. Worthless.

Things are different now. She can give him answers now.

"We met on a full moon," she replies just as quietly. "I was just a kid. I didn't have any control and I managed to slip away from my family. I should have hurt her. But…"

"You didn't," Stiles finishes.

Sara shakes her head and blinks, trying not to cry. "I didn't. I was like a damn puppy, if my family is to be believed."

"Mom wasn't…I mean, she wasn't one of you. Right?"

Sara frowns, confused by how nervous Stiles sounds. His heart is racing. "Of course she was one of us. She was pack. We were practically sisters."

He shakes his head, hand at his mouth. "No, I mean…was she human?"

"She never wanted to be a werewolf," Sara replies simply. "She didn't need to be one."

Stiles relaxes, visibly relieved. Sara wonders why he even questioned it. As far as Stiles and John know, Niamh died from dementia. Except for a few radical exceptions, werewolves don't get sick. Not naturally. Not like they think Niamh did. But there was no way for the doctor’s to know that something _caused_ the dementia.  

"Why not?"

Sara turns to John with a frown. "What?"

"Why didn't she _need_ to be a werewolf?"

Sara freezes. She doesn't want them to find out why Niamh died. They don't need to know. It would only make them feel guilty. If they know what role Niamh played in the pack, if they knew what it meant, they might start asking questions. She has to be more careful.

"Aunt Sara?"

"She helped us. Protected us." Sara is purposefully vague. Maybe they won't understand. The Hale pack's emissary before the fire was far less involved than Niamh ever was. He might not even be in Beacon Hills anymore.

Stiles eyes are wide. "She was an emissary," he says, voice hushed.

She nods. John looks between them. "One more time. What’s an emissary?"

"They help the pack," Stiles explains. "Give advice and information. They're supposed to stabilize it or something. Deaton talks about it like it's a responsibility to protect people. Especially their pack." He rubs his jaw before continuing. "Emissaries can do magic."

"Alan Deaton told you all of that?" Sara asks suspiciously. "I don't remember him being very forthcoming with information."

Stiles scoffs, laughing bitterly. "Oh, he's not. He's _really_ not."

Sara raises an eyebrow. "Then why did he - "

"Oh. Um. He's kind of…training me? To be one?"

John simply stares for a moment before closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you did not just say what I think you said."

"What? I already told you this, Dad! And werewolves you'll believe, but magic is too much? Ms. Blake _totally_ did magic. You saw her. Even if it was, you know, the evil kind."

He looks at Stiles and raises an eyebrow. Sara has to cover her mouth to try not to laugh. "You said Deaton was teaching you _about_ emissaries. Not how to _be_ one. I believe you, kid, it's just that I fear a world where you are capable of doing magic."

Stiles' mouth hangs open. Sara can't help but giggle and he glares at her. "Excuse you, Dad, I am awesome at magic. I'm a natural talent, according to Deaton. Well, he calls me a spark but still isn't really clear on what that means. He uses too many metaphors."

"It doesn't surprise me," Sara says. "Niamh was strong. She taught herself how to do most of it from books Francis found. You're a lot like her. I would be surprised if you didn't have her talent."

Stiles looks down. Sara can hear the door open, Stiles' friends returning. His pack members. "Are the rumors true?"

"Which ones?" he asks, voice quiet and bitter again.

"Any of them. I've heard about a kanima and a darach. That there's a Nemeton here, even though a half-sentient druid tree has no reason being in California."

He's rubbing his jaw again. Sara wonders if it's a nervous habit. "It's all true. The kanima is now a werewolf. He moved to _London_ , if you can believe it. We think the darach is dead. She was sacrificing people to the Nemeton for power. We…we stopped her."

"Are you sure?" Sara asks. "I was driving in and it felt…"

Stiles refuses to meet her eye. "No, I'm sure. We stopped her before she could finish."

His heartbeat stutters. It's slight. If Sara weren't listening so closely, she probably wouldn't have noticed. But she heard it. Stiles is lying.

He looks up and meets her eye. He knows that she can tell. He doesn't want her to say anything.

She sighs. She can pull him aside later and find out why he's lying. "Something's happening now, though. Isn't it?"

"Someone's bringing people back from the dead," John says. He sounds like he can't believe he has to say something like that. "A necromancer named Lillian. She's not the problem right now. Before she brought back two of Stiles’ friends, she resurrected the hunter who killed the Hales."

"We have a plan," Stiles says. "Or, part of one, at least. We're just waiting for Derek and Cora."

"I should call Jade and Banner," she says. "They're in a motel outside of town. I should let them know what's happening."

Stiles nods and pushes his chair back, he starts to head towards the kitchen. Then he freezes. "Is Banner a werewolf too?"

"Yeah. We were both born werewolves."

She watches as Stiles looks at her exactly like Niamh used to when she thought of new questions. She always hunted answers down ruthlessly. It's one of the reasons she got along so well with John. Something Stiles inherited from both of them in droves.

"How does transitioning work for a werewolf?"

She sighs. "Not easily. We have to use three times the normal amount of hormones and have to mix it with a rare strain of wolfsbane so that his body has enough time to actually accept it."

"How - "

"Is now really the time, Stiles?" John asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure Banner will answer the questions himself after this mess is over."

Stiles mouth hangs open for a minute, but then he retreats into the kitchen. John covers his face with his hands for a minute. "You okay?" she asks quietly. "This is a lot to take in."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just worried."

"Stiles will be okay," Sara says, still just as quiet. "His pack will protect him. And…I'll come around more now. I should have been coming anyway."

He shakes his head. "Something is going on. He won't tell me about it. Something's really wrong, Sara."

She frowns and leans forward. "Why? What's wrong?"

"He isn't sleeping," he replies, sounding exhausted. "I came home today and he had fallen asleep at his desk. He woke up _screaming_. Like he was getting murdered. He said he doesn't know what's real or not. It was just like...I'm _afraid_ that it’s - "

"I'll talk to him," she interrupts. "Maybe he'll tell me. We'll make sure he's okay. His friends will too."

John sighs and she can tell he isn't convinced. "You'll tell me what being an emissary actually means for him, right?"

"Of course," she replies. She stands and moves closer to John so they can talk quietly.

* * *

 

Everything is still too sensitive when she wakes up. But it's better than it was before. She feels like she can focus now and not be overwhelmed by it. Boyd is still sleeping next to her, so she doesn't move. But she tries to remember everything.

She remembers the bank vault. The woman on the preserve with the wolfsbane and incense. Scott and Isaac finding them stumbling around a day later.

It isn't easy to remember. Everything is hazy. She was too focused on everything around her. Everything was too sensitive for her to remember anything clearly.

Her clearest memory is the bank vault and it makes her skin crawl.

She closes her eyes. The room smells like Stiles and the sheriff. A little bit like Scott. She can hear voices downstairs. She can't help but feel relieved that she can't hear what they're saying without focusing.

Erica doesn't listen to what they say. She just listens to the voices, trying to figure out who is downstairs. She can hear Stiles and Scott. Their parents. Isaac and Lydia. Allison. There's another voice, but she doesn't recognize it.

The doorbell rings. Boyd's eyes fly open. She reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder. "Is it better?"

He takes a deep breath, but nods. "Yeah. It's better. I can think now."

For a few moments, it's quiet. No one downstairs is talking. Boyd is just looking at her. It is tense and makes Erica feel anxious, but the relative silence is still a relief.

Then the door swings open, slamming against the wall. Erica jumps into a sitting position. She can feel her claws extending, her heart beating against her chest and control slipping.

"Cora?"

The name feels like it's ripped out of her throat. Cora doesn't answer. She throws herself on the bed and Erica almost chokes on her hair. Cora hugs her so tight it hurts, but Erica doesn't care.

She remembers. Boyd and Cora were the last things she saw before she died.

Erica has to blink to keep the tears out of her eyes. She isn't going to cry. She won't. She looks over at Boyd. Cora has one hand wrapped in Boyd's shirt so tight that Erica can hear the fabric ripping.

She looks up and sees Derek in the doorway. His eyes are wide she can see that his fists are clenched. She swallows drily and raises an eyebrow.

"You just gonna stand there?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. Erica can't help but smile. Derek doesn't smile. He smirks and grimaces, but Erica can't remember anything but a shit-eating grin.

The twitching, though? Totally his version of a smile.

He steps forward and sits on the edge of the bed. Erica wants to find a way to get the morose look off of his face. It is far too close to pity.

"I'm sorry." He looks at Erica first, but his glance flicks to Boyd quickly. "I should have - "

"Shut up," Erica interrupts. "No self-pity. We just came back from the dead, you have to do what we say."

He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Really? That mean we have to do whatever Peter says?"

"No," Boyd says quickly. "Never."

"Good choice," Cora says from her shoulder. "Are you guys…okay?"

"We're fine," Boyd replies. "Still healing."

Cora leans back, releasing them and sitting next to Derek. "What happened?"

Erica glances at Boyd and resists the urge to fidget. "I woke up on the preserve. There was a woman. She brought Boyd back to life."

"Did she do anything else?"

She shakes her head and looks at Derek. "She said she was trying to make up for a mistake. Then she helped us out of the clearing and disappeared. Scott and Isaac found us."

"Why is everyone downstairs?" Boyd asks seriously.

Derek looks away and Cora looks livid. Erica can see how tense her muscles are she can smell how furious she is. "The mistake that necromancer made? We have to take care of it."

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Kate has not decided if her niece needs to be put down or not. It’s hard to tell. Especially when she’s surrounded by a werewolf pack. It’s pathetically easy to spy on the sheriff's house. Really, if Kate were a better person she might take pity on the security systems of Beacon Hills and tell them how lax it is.

Of course, the terrible security makes things easy for her. Kate isn't about to change that.

All she has to do to spy on the sheriff is to break into the house across the street. The "for sale" sign is practically a welcome mat. They could have at least made it difficult for her. But no, all the curtains are thrown open. She can see everyone perfectly.

Which is when she realizes her problem. She's outnumbered. Severely.

Derek is there, of course. It seems like no matter how hard she tries, Kate cannot find a way to make his death stick. One of his sisters is there too. The family resemblance is unmistakable. Allison's boy-toy, of course. Three other teenagers she doesn't recognize. Allison's redhead and Scott's mouthy friend. Three adults. The sheriff and Scott's mother, plus another woman she doesn't know.

Twelve. Thirteen, if she counts her brother. She has no illusions about who he will side with this time.

Kate needs help. She needed help to take out the Hales and there were just as many of them. But she won't make the same mistake twice. She needs _real_ help. Not random civilians she manages to trick into helping her.

She needs help from other hunters.

Kate knows _just_ who to call.

* * *

"I don't like this," Jade says for the thousandth time.

Banner rolls his eyes. He should demand a refund. Not only does he get stuck with Sara for a sister, who has a guilt complex the size of Texas, but now he has Jade as a sister-in-law who worries. About everything. Constantly. While pacing, apparently.

"Yeah, you've said," he replies, lounging on the bed and flipping channels. It is distraction, mostly. The last thing Banner wants to do is focus on the smells wafting off the beds. Motels suck. "And like I said before: I know. I don't like it either."

"She should have called by now. It's been hours."

"Maybe she got caught up in things. It’s been a while."

Jade sighs and stops moving. She sits on the edge of the other bed heavily, hands gripping her knees tightly. "It's been seven hours. She should have called by now."

"Six and a half," he retorts.

"It's not like her. Especially not with how nervous she was. Something must have happened."

He groans, leaning his head back until it smacks against the wall. "Then why don't _you_ call her?"

"I've texted her and she hasn't looked at them. Her phone must be off or on silent."

Banner rolls his head to look at her. "What do you want to do, Jade? Steal a car and go find her? She's fine."

Jade glares. "You don't know that."

"Okay, maybe I don't. But I would know if something were wrong."

She rolls her eyes, but relaxes enough to sit cross-legged on the bed. "What, special werewolf-senses tell you when she's in trouble?"

"Something like that," Banner replies. "But if something were wrong, she would have called already. Or howled for us, at the very least."

Jade is quiet and Banner focuses on the changing channels. He's too tired for this shit. Damn wolfsbane and hormones. He can only take the hormones every other day, but the wolfsbane stays in his system for longer than that. It isn't enough to hurt, but it's enough to make him feel like shit.

He doesn't know how humans stand being sick. It sucks.

"You really think she's okay?"

He sits up and faces Jade. "You really want to know?"

He knows her teeth are clenched because he can hear her teeth grind when she nods. "Yes."

"I think she's fine. You've never met the Stilinskis. If I were to make a guess, I would say that she's been talking to Stiles since she got there. Kid never shut up. When he did, Sara wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. It's probably taking them this long just to catch up."

She closes her eyes and Banner can tell she really is worried. He gets it. He does. He's worried too. It _isn't_ like Sara to put off a call for so long. Especially to Jade. But Jade can't hear her heartbeat or smell if she's anxious or not. In the car, Sara was _positive_ that everything would be okay.

Sara isn't usually wrong about that kind of thing. She's got great situational awareness.

Banner doesn't know how to comfort Jade, though. She doesn't trust what they can hear or smell as fact. She always rants about how werewolves aren't trained in psychology.

He doesn't have to say anything. The phone rings.

Jade lunges for the cell phone, answering before it has even finished its first ring. "Sara? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. Things are complicated, I got caught up."

She pulls the phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker and holding it out. "What's going on? Do you need us to come?" Banner asked.

Sara doesn't answer right away. "Not yet," she finally says. "I might need you to. But I think we're okay right now."

"What happened?" Jade asks, voice more firm than her face. Her eyes are wide and she looks scared.

"You remember Scott, Banner?" Sara asks.

"Yeah. Always getting into trouble with Stiles."

"He's a werewolf. An alpha."

Banner practically falls off the bed when he leans forward too fast. _"What?"_

"Yeah. Things have been _shit_ here, Ban."

"Are you sure you don't need us to come?" Jade asks.

Sara doesn't reply. "I don't know. Maybe you should."

"Tomorrow morning," Banner says. "We'll come first thing."

She sighs, the sound distorted over the phone. "Thank you."

"Now tell us what's happening."

"There's a necromancer. She brought back the woman that killed the Hales. Then she brought back two of their pack members. They think the hunter is out for revenge. And…"

Jade shifts, pulling her legs up so she can rest her chin on her knees. "And what?"

"I think something's wrong with Stiles. John said he woke up from a nightmare dreaming and didn't know if he was really awake or not. Something else is happening here. I don't like it."

“Isn’t that how things started with - “ Jade asks softly.

“Yes,” Sara interrupts.

It's quiet and Banner scratches the back of his neck. "We'll be there first thing tomorrow. I'll call a cab."

He hears Sara laugh shortly on the other end of the phone. "What? Don't want to try stealing a car?"

"Well, we’re going to be at the sheriff's house. It's probably best if we refrain from any overt criminality."

Jade smiles and Banner knows that she wants to talk to Sara alone. "I'm going to go shower. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."

"Same goes for you," Sara retorts easily.

He closes the bathroom door behind him and turns on the water. Jade didn't grow up with werewolves. She still has a thing about privacy and not liking to be overheard. Banner pulls off his shirt and twists to undo his binder.

He closes his eyes when he steps under the spray, breathing deeply for the first time. At least the bathroom is clean, for the most part. He doesn't have to breathe through his mouth. He makes sure to take an extra-long shower. A long enough conversation with Sara and Jade might be able to sleep tonight.

* * *

Everyone is thinking too simplistically. Lydia doesn't blame them. Too much is happening at once. Emotions are running too high.

Lydia is lucky enough that her defense mechanism for high-stress situations is to fall back onto logic. Most of the time. And logic says that Kate Argent will not be as easy to trap as everyone thinks. She will probably fall for their bait. Lydia certainly would, even if she knew it was a trap. Wanting to kill Peter Hale is not an impulse easily ignored.

But Kate Argent isn't some run of the mill hunter. Lydia has spent weeks poring over the Argent's bestiary. If Kate was taught and raised according to the information in the bestiary, there is no way she will face an entire pack of werewolves on her own. It would be foolish.

Kate Argent is no fool.

No. Kate Argent is clever. She was smart enough and persuasive enough to convince five people to be her accomplices in multiple counts of murder. Five people whose criminal records only had small-scale arson charges.

Lydia is sure that Stiles is right. Kate Argent wants revenge. But she is not going to walk into a trap unprepared. She's too smart for that.

She sighs and taps her fingers against her keyboard. Stiles and Scott are trying to explain their plan to everyone. She lets them. It gives her more time to focus on figuring out what Kate's plan might actually be.

Lydia isn't a detective. She's a researcher. She looks up information for the express purpose of learning. She doesn't make connections about a person's motivations. It isn't something that comes naturally to her. Stiles is the detective. He makes intuitive leaps about people with hardly a thought and is almost always right.

But Stiles is preoccupied. So Lydia is going outside her comfort zone.

While Stiles explains how he can actually use something like mountain ash to trap Kate, Lydia nudges Allison. "Do you know if there are any hunters Kate might get into contact with?"

She frowns. "Why?"

"Because I don't think she'll be alone when she goes after Peter."

Allison bites her lip. "I think there is," she replies. "Dad still hasn't told me much about other hunters, but Kate had a friend when I was younger. They were really close."

"And she's definitely a hunter?"

"Kate would always talk about them working together," she replies, pulling Lydia's laptop closer. "It'll be easy to check. If she's a hunter, she probably has a job like my dad."

"Semi-high profile and an easy cover for story for weapons expertise, you mean?"

Allison's dimples come out and she tilts the screen towards Lydia. "Alessa Kokinos. The Kokinos family owns a chain of firing ranges. Look at which one she oversees personally."

Lydia looks and smiles. "The Sacramento location. Conveniently, only a few hours from Beacon Hills."

They are interrupted before they can continue. "You expect us to believe that you can hold a hunter with _magic_?" Cora asks Stiles, voice thick with disbelief and contempt.

"I'm saying it's _possible_ ," Stiles says.

"And what makes you think - "

"Oh, children," Lydia interrupts, "I think we need a change of plan."

Everyone turns to look at her. "Why?" Derek asks shortly.

"Sheriff, how many people conspired with Kate?"

"Five, including Adrian Harris," he replies.

"Do any of you believe that someone who took such care to cover her tracks will walk into such an obvious trap on her own?"

Everyone falls silent. Lydia feels smug. It's always to know that she has the power to silence a room.

"You know who she'll call to help her. Don't you?"

Lydia looks at Stiles' aunt and smiles. "Yes. Allison remembers her being friends with an Alessa Kokinos. Her family owns shooting ranges and she lives in Sacramento."

"You're sure she's a hunter?" Isaac asks. "It could just be a coincidence."

"It isn't," Sara replies. "The Kokinos family are hunters. They have a…reputation."

Stiles groans and slouches in his chair. "It isn't a reputation for being merciful and decent human beings, is it?"

"No. The opposite. They're violent and ruthless. If they find anything non-human, they don't ask questions. My grandmother had to deal with them not long after she was turned."

"How?" Derek asks. "How do you deal with hunters like that?"

Sara shrugs. "Not sure. She doesn't talk about it. I think she scared them into a truce."

"Which won't work for us," Scott says heavily. "So we need a new plan."

"Not a new one," Allison says. "Using Peter as bait is still our best chance of being able to have a choice in this. It might be the only advantage we can use."

Lydia sits back. They are all packed into the living room. It feels strange, for them to be so organized. But there isn't much room and everyone is close together. It feels like they are actually a pack.

Now all they need is a plan that won't get any of them killed and take care of the hunters.

* * *

 By the time everyone has finally agreed on a plan, John is exhausted. Between worrying about Stiles, trying to feed an entire horde of young adults, and Sara revealing secrets he didn't know Claudia was keeping from him - he’s emotionally drained.

But he can't sleep yet. The pack has all left except for Erica, Boyd, and the Hales. Derek and Cora refused to leave without them and John isn’t about to let two recently-dead teenagers go off gallivanting when they are still recovering. So the two are now in the guest room with Erica and Boyd, camping out on the floor with a couple of sleeping bags.

He needs to talk to his son. He needs to talk to Sara. John isn't sure if he'll be able to sleep if he doesn't.

Sara's on the phone, so he goes to Stiles' room and knocks on the door before opening it. Stiles is sitting on his bed cross-legged, papers spread out in front of him. John raises an eyebrow.

"Just reading up on the Kokinos family," he says.

"There will be time tomorrow," John replies. "You should try and sleep."

Stiles looks down. John knows that he's trying to fight the urge to bite his tongue. When he was a kid and he was upset, Stiles would always bite his tongue. Claudia would poke fun at him for it. Now John's pretty sure he just shoves it against the back of his teeth.

"Dad…"

He sighs and sits across from Stiles, trying not to mess up the papers. "Stiles. I get it. But a lot is going to happen tomorrow. You need to be at your best."

"What if it happens again?"

John looks at his son, marveling both at how young and how old he sounds. It's been years since Stiles has sounded so young. He grew up too fast. John wishes he could have been a better father after Claudia died. He should have been better. Done more. He shouldn't have let his eight-year old try to take care of him.

Despite it, Stiles grew up into a good man. Smart and loyal. Sarcastic to a fault and both too good and too terrible a liar, but someone John is proud to call his son. Most of the time.

John has never heard his son sound so tired before.

"I'm right down the hall," John says. "However many times you need me to, I'll be here to help."

Stiles nods and he twists his hands in his lap. "I kept dreaming that I woke up," he says quietly. "It all felt real. How am I supposed to know, Dad? Even when I woke up I didn't know. It still feels like I'm waiting to wake up."

John reaches forward and squeezes Stiles' knee. "We'll figure it out. Okay? Do some research." Stiles suddenly looks twice as miserable. John frowns. "What is it?"

He takes a deep breath before saying anything. John thinks he looks about ready to pass out. "I can't read," he mutters. "Sometimes, I'll try to look at the page and the letters don't make sense."

"Then I hope you aren't sick of my voice," John says, trying to force his voice to be nonchalant. "It happens again and I'll read everything aloud, okay? But some sleep might help."

Stiles nods and starts gathering up the papers. "Do you - "

John raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Sara's going to sleep on the couch, right?"

"That was the plan."

"Do you think…" he trails off and rubs his jaw. "We have an air mattress, right? She could stay in here."

John smiles and stands. He grips the back of Stiles' neck gently. "I'll ask her. Go ahead and get it set up, all right?"

Stiles nods and starts shoving the papers into a folder. John turns and heads back downstairs. Sara is sitting on the bottom step, leaning against the railing with her phone pressed against her ear. John joins her, sitting next to her and pressing his shoulder against the wall.

"I know. Tell Remy I'm okay." John watches as she smiles, biting her lip. She almost looks embarrassed. "Love you too. See you tomorrow."

When she hangs up the phone, John looks at her expectantly. "So. What's their name?"

Sara blushes and John has to stop himself from grinning. "Jade. Her name's Jade Bellamy."

"How'd you meet her?"

She bites her lip and looks down. "At, um…grief counselling. We met at a meeting."

John nods. "She make you happy?"

Sara looks at him and nods. "Yes. And you don't have to play the protective brother. Banner covered that three years ago."

"I'm sure he did," John chuckles. "So. Stiles is setting up an air mattress in his room. I don't think he wants to be alone right now."

"He okay?"

John sighs. "I don't think so. He's afraid and exhausted. Not a good combination."

Sara stands and picks up her bag from the foot of the stairs. "We'll take care of him."

He smiles. He forgot how easy things with Sara could be. He forgot how well they understood each other. How alike they really are.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Good night, John."

He sighs and Sara walks past him up the stairs. He stays where he is for a minute. He can hear Stiles and Sara talking quietly, hear the werewolves moving in the guest room. John doesn't think the house has ever been so full before.

He can't help but wonder what Claudia would think. Of course, she would have known what was happening before he did. She would have known that the animal attacks weren't wild animals. Would she have told him?

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache. He can't think about it. He told himself a long time ago that he couldn't let the what-if's control him. He can remember the good, but he can't think let himself think about hypotheticals. It's what almost destroyed him.

John pulls himself to his feet and heads to his room before he passes out on the stairs. Stiles would never let him live it down.

* * *

Kate hates surveillance. It was never her strong point. But Derek and his sister are still in the sheriff's house. Derek isn't at the top of her list for revenge, but she isn't going to let him slip through her fingers. She was too easy on him before. She doesn't know how he managed to avoid the fire or how another one of his sisters escaped, but she isn't going to be sloppy this time.

All of the Hales are going to die. Every werewolf in this cursed town is going to die.

And if anyone else gets in the way? Kate won't cry over collateral damage. Now that Kate has the Kokinos' backing her, there's no way she will lose. She is going to cut Peter Hale in half. She is going to put Derek Hale and his teenaged pack down.

But something is bothering her. The blonde woman. The one that turned up before the Hales. Kate recognizes her. She doesn't know why, but the woman is familiar. She is almost positive that the woman is a werewolf, but Kate doesn't think she's recently turned. Not like the teenagers.

No. Kate thinks she's a born werewolf. Or part of a more stable pack, at the least. She needs to find out who the woman is and what pack she's from.

She waits until all the lights are dark. She waits another two hours. If any of the werewolves hear her, she'll have to run. Kate hates running.

She crosses the street and breaks into the woman's car easily. She immediately reaches for the glove compartment, rifling through it until she finds the registration and insurance. It takes her a moment to find the name. The streetlights only emphasize the shadows in the car and make it more difficult to read.

_Sara Whelan._

Kate returns the papers and locks the door behind her. She doesn't know what this means. The Whelans are infamous. Alessa will either be thrilled or terrified when she finds out. Kate isn't sure which is more dangerous for the pack. Alessa has been trying to find a way to dispose of the Whelans for years. Her family refused to support her, citing some archaic treaty made with the Whelan alpha.

It was sickening. Hunters making treaties with beasts? It is shameful. If werewolves kill your family, you don't make peace with them. You eviscerate them.

Now, though, things are different. Kate has nothing to lose. She has experience in covering up necessary crimes. Alessa has the manpower and firepower to make it possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if anything with Banner is incorrect. I researched as much as I could, but I am still cisgendered and not at all an expert on the trans community so let me know if anything is misrepresented.


	7. Chapter 7

Allison wakes with a start. She keeps her jaw clenched and breathes in a shaky stutter. Her hands are twisted in her sheets, but she can feel them shaking. For a horrible second, she is sure that the reason her chest hurts so much is because there really is a knife there. She has to force herself to unclench her fist so she can make sure there isn’t one.

She pulls her legs up to her chest, burying her face against her knees. She can't breathe right, can't keep still. Her chest hurts so much she can't stop the tears.

A hand grips her shoulder and before she can react, Allison is pulled against her father's chest. His other hand is in her hair, guiding her head to his shoulder. He doesn't say anything and Allison is grateful. If he tries to comfort her, she doesn't know if she could stop crying.

She feels guilty. She shouldn't hate Kate so much. The dreams aren't really her. No matter how awful Kate proved herself to be, she's still her aunt. She was still like Allison’s sister. If her dad doesn't hate Kate, Allison shouldn't.

But she can't help it. Allison is terrified that she is like Kate.

Kate killed an entire family because she could. Because she thought they were dangerous. Allison almost did the same. She almost killed the pack because she blamed them. She doesn't want to be like Kate. She just doesn't know how to stop it.

She closes her eyes and focuses on trying to breathe.

* * *

Stiles wakes up tangled in his comforter and lying on the floor. He manages to knock everything off his nightstand trying to get free. When he finally does, he notices the window. The sun is up.

The sun is up and Stiles doesn't remember it rising. He can barely remember the last time he managed to sleep through a sunrise.

He makes his way downstairs. Maybe his dad made coffee before leaving for work. When Stiles steps into the kitchen he freezes. It's packed with people and for a split second, Stiles can not remember why it could possibly be so full.

Then he remembers that it's only half as full as it was the night before.

The werewolves are all sitting at the table except for Derek. He and Sara are both at the stove. Stiles had no idea Derek could cook. And Stiles _knows_ that Derek is doing the bulk of the cooking. Stiles can remember Sara and his mom in the kitchen, laughing hysterically when Sara tried to use salt instead of sugar.

Before Stiles can even say good morning, the doorbell rings. He sees Sara stiffen immediately and abandon the stove. She brushes past him on the way to the door. Stiles goes to take her spot.

"Stiles," Derek greets.

"Hey. Need some help?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you more or less helpless at cooking than your aunt?"

Stiles laughs. "Less. Definitely less. I don't think anyone is as helpless as Sara."

"Then yeah, you can help. She was making toast."

He nods and leans against the counter by the toaster. "How was the road trip?"

"Fine," Derek replies, eyes never moving from the eggs on the stove.

"Really? Monosyllabic reply? That's it?"

"Being cooped up for hours in a car and then sleeping in a motel where we could smell every body fluid left behind was great."

"So what you're saying is you're glad to be back."

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles is pretty sure half of any conversation they have is just one of them rolling their eyes. "Yeah, Stiles, I'm glad that I had to come back because the woman that killed my family is somehow alive again."

Stiles puts more bread in the toaster, buttering the toast before throwing it on the plate with the rest. He glances behind him at his dad and Erica and Boyd. They're talking quietly, absorbed in their own conversation. It looks like Cora is half asleep between the two werewolves.

"Okay, so that sucks. But it might be worth it, you know?"

Derek looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. "A mass murderer that probably wants to kill all of us might be worth it?"

"I mean, Lillian said she brought Erica and Boyd back to make up for a mistake, right? If she didn't bring Kate back, she might not have brought them back at all."

He swallows and glances back at the two before his gaze returned to the eggs. He doesn't reply, but Stiles likes to think he’s decent at reading Derek's silences now. He can tell that Derek agrees. Stiles saw the look on his and Cora's face when they got to the house.

"I didn't realize Cora was so close to them," he says quietly.

"They were trapped together in a bank vault for three months."

"Yeah, I know. But she never really let much personal stuff slip. Maybe you got an explanation, but none of us even know how she survived the fire. Or where she's been for the past six years. We knew she was upset about Boyd, but I don't think we knew they were…"

"Friends?"

"Yeah."

"I forget too," he replies. "Didn't know you had an aunt."

"Well, she's not actually related. Technically," Stiles says, moving on to another stack of toast. "She and my mom were best friends."

"Did she know? Your mom?"

Stiles looks up. "What? That Sara's a werewolf?"

Derek nods. "It's not easy to really be friends with someone. Not without realizing that you’re hiding something. Most werewolves…they have their pack and that's it. The only outside friends they have are usually brought into the pack eventually."

"Is that how your family was?" He makes sure his voice is pitched low. Derek can ignore the question if he wants. He doesn't talk about his life before the fire much. Stiles gets it. But he can't help but be curious.

"Yes," Derek replies after a few long moments. "None of us went to public school until we were old enough to control the shift. Laura had a few friends, but I only ever really had acquaintances or teammates." He turns and raises an eyebrow. "Did she know?"

"Yeah," Stiles replies quietly. "I mean, they grew up together. Mom’s family were all gone by the time she was ten. She got adopted and then she met Sara. Apparently they met on a full moon."

"So she was part of the pack."

Stiles can't help the bitter, disbelieving laugh. He's trying to be okay with the fact that his mom kept secrets from them. If anyone can understand keeping secrets, it's Stiles. But his _mom -_

"She was their _emissary_ , man."

Derek's only reaction of shock is to blink. Stiles wishes he could have a poker face that good. He starts serving the scrambled eggs and sausage onto plates, passing it to Stiles so he can put toast on the side. "Our families," he said, voice stilted oddly, "they were allies."

Stiles looks at him in confusion. "What?"

"My family. We were allies with the Whelan pack. Before the fire."

"Okay…"

"I only met them once. Remy came with one of her daughters. They were…better. My mother had a reputation. I think Remy is the only alpha that ever managed to really be a match for her."

"Is there a point to this story?"

Derek glares. "Remy isn't a born werewolf. She was bitten and then she became alpha. Didn't create a pack until she started having kids. They were always more stable than us. They had less problems. You should talk to her. You and Scott. Figure out…"

Stiles blinks. "Are you giving me advice?"

"It's been known to happen," he replies stiffly.

"Well, yeah. But usually it's _we have to kill this person_ or _listen to what I say because I said so_. It's usually not advice that's actually good." Derek rolls his eyes and picks up the plates, carrying half of them up his left arm. Before he can turn, Stiles grabs his wrist. "Thanks."

He nods and starts putting plates in front of people. Stiles grabs silverware when Sara returns to the kitchen. Stiles can tell that she's resisting the urge to beam.

She's holding hands with another woman. She's taller than Sara and her hair is held back with a scarf that hangs over her shoulder. Her skin is dark and the bridge of her nose and cheeks are spattered with freckles. She looks as pleased as Sara.

Banner is behind both of them and he pushes his way past Sara. Stiles grins. "Hey, kid," Banner says, throwing an arm across his shoulders and hugging him.

"You look good," he replies.

"Thanks," Banner replies with a grin. "Heard you managed to get yourself into trouble. Can't say I'm surprised. Your mom was a magnet for misfortune too. Remind me to tell you about the time with the fairies."

Stiles frowns. "Wait, _fairies_ \- "

"Oh my _God_ , Banner!" Sara exclaims. "You can't tell him that story!"

"Why not? He's seventeen."

 _"I'm_ not old enough for that story."

"Guys," the woman says. Stiles can tell that she breaks up their arguing a lot. It's the same look his dad gets when he has to stop Stiles mid-rant.

Banner rolls his eyes and the woman turns to look at Stiles instead. "Stiles, right? I've heard a lot about you. I'm Jade."

"Nice to meet you. This is my dad. He's usually not verbal until the second cup of coffee."

His dad looks up at him and glares, but it's dampened by the fact that he has a mug of coffee in his hand and halfway to his mouth. Banner throws himself down into the chair next to his dad, stealing toast off his plate. "So, introductions?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Derek and Cora Hale," he says, pointing to them. "This is Erica and Boyd. Don't be a jerk, they were dead until yesterday."

"Stiles - "

His dad's beleaguered tone is cut off when Erica laughs. "I am going to use that excuse now, you know," she tells him. She sounds like her old self. "'Don't be mean, I was dead yesterday.' Think it'll work?"

"Well, you can’t use it in front of other people," he replies. "That'd be a little difficult to explain."

Sara, Jade, and Banner join them at the table. They have to pull chairs in from the dining room. "So, is there a plan?" Jade asks as she steals Sara's fork and claims a piece of sausage.

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Though, considering we don't know how many hunters Kate's friend is going to bring it might have to change."

"As long as there is actually a plan," Banner replies. "Any plan is a good plan."

Sara rolls her eyes. "Which is why we always have to bail you out of trouble."

"So what is the plan?"

"Everyone else should be here soon," Stiles replies. "Lydia and Allison came up with most of it."

"Are they werewolves too?" Banner asks, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles can't help but snort. Derek and Cora both scoff. Boyd raises an eyebrow. Erica laughs outright. "Allison is an Argent," Derek replies.

Sara and Banner both look at him in shock. "And Lydia's a banshee," Stiles adds. "Though we aren't sure what the hell that means."

Banner looks like he wants to ask, but Stiles' dad puts up his hand. "Let's finish our breakfast and we can discuss any plans that could end in death later, all right?"

Stiles glances at his dad and grins. Even though everything is awful now, Stiles is happy that his dad knows how bad things are. He can't think of many people who are better in a crisis than his dad. And with Sara and Banner? Who have been part of a werewolf pack their entire lives? Stiles is actually hopeful. He doesn’t feel like their plan will end in death and pain.

It’s a surreal feeling.

* * *

Scott has to keep running his thumb over his fingernails. He keeps thinking that his claws are already out, that he's already half-shifted and can't turn back. So he stands next to Derek and Sara, pressing his thumb into the blunt edge of his fingernail.

They are on the very edge of the preserve. There's a parking lot before them and the preserve at their back. It took ages to agree on a place to set their trap. Derek and Cora didn't like being out in the open. Neither did Sara nor Banner. But Allison assured them that it would be best once the situation devolved into actual fighting. Hunters liked to hide their numbers as best as they could. They wouldn't be able to here. Now they only have to worry about defending one side instead of all sides.

He still feels too exposed. He isn't the only one. Sara fidgets next to him, reminding him of Stiles. Derek stands next to him and Scott's muscles hurt in sympathy from how still he’s standing. Allison is on the end next to Banner, hands so tight around her bow that he can hear the metal squeak under her grip.

Peter has the only calm heartbeat that he can hear. Scott is trying to ignore Peter.

"You realize we're all going to die," he says pleasantly. "I mean, at least I had the good sense to make sure I had the element of surprise. Of course, I also had blinding rage and unspeakable power on my side when _I_ decided to go after hunters."

"And that worked out for you so well," Derek says evenly.

Peter doesn't reply. Scott is surprised until he hears the engines. They're still far off, but Scott can hear at least four cars.

"What?" Allison asks. "What is it?"

"Cars are on their way," Derek replies stiffly.

"How far?"

"Another five minutes, probably," Scott says. He doesn't hear the tires hit gravel yet, so they haven't gotten to the access road.

"Just stick to the plan," Derek says roughly.

Peter scoffs. "You realize that Kate has probably been staking you out since she killed her father, correct? You won't surprise her. She knows everything about us and we know nothing about her little friends."

"Shut up," Allison and Derek say at once.

Scott turns to the tree line. He can't see anyone, not even from this distance. But he can hear Lydia's rapid breathing and Chris loading a gun. Stiles is fidgeting, Cora telling him that he can't pace without giving away their position. He can hear his mom tapping on the armrest from inside her car. He can hear everyone's rapid, anxious heartbeats.

He can hear the SUVs on gravel and steps forward to grab Peter's shoulder. Scott isn't sure that he won't try to make a run for it. Peter stiffens under his hand and for a second, Scott is sure that he's going to try to fight him. Then Derek claps a hand onto his other shoulder.

Four SUVs barrel into the lot, parking in a line. Scott feels both Peter and Derek stiffen next to him when Kate climbs out of the passenger seat of the first car, a rifle in hand. Five other hunters get out of the SUV and begin to approach them. Scott counts heartbeats quickly. Nineteen. Nineteen hunters.

He shouldn't be surprised. They had counted on being outnumbered. It's part of the plan.

Nineteen is more than they expected. Peter must be right. They know more than they expected them to know.

Kate heads straight for them, Alessa at her side and four others behind them, three women and one man. Scott recognizes Alessa's picture from the website. He also recognizes the guns from the website. They look just as menacing in person.

"Have to say I'm surprised," Kate says, sounding just as offhandedly cruel as he remembers. "I never expected any of you to last this long. Especially since that _creature_ ," she gestures to Peter with her rifle, "is still alive."

"Do you really think we're going to let you slaughter us?" Allison asks viciously. She has an arrow in her bow and her hand is steady for now. "No one here has committed any crimes."

"Your little… _friends_ commit a crime by existing," Alessa says casually. She is looking at Peter.

Scott feels like an idiot. Kate has no idea who the alpha is. She thinks it's still Peter. Why didn't they think of that? They could have worked it into their plan.

"We all know that negotiating isn't going to go anywhere," Peter says. He sounds casual, but Scott can hear his heart pick up. "Why don't you just start shooting?"

Alessa barely reacts, but Scott sees her hand tighten around her gun. Before he can say anything, Sara takes a cautious step forward. "Do you know who I am?"

Scott doesn't let his surprise show. If his works, they don't have to resort to the actual plan. But he's never heard Sara sound so menacing. It sounds strange. He understands why she is going to be alpha after her grandmother.

"Should I?" Alessa asks, obviously bored. "You're another beast to be put down."

Kate is looking at Sara nervously. She knows who Sara is, even if Alessa doesn't. He can hear Sara's smirk without looking at her. "I'm alpha inherit of the Whelan pack."

The reaction is immediate. Alessa, the shortest woman, and the man all snap. Alessa raises a gun immediately. The other women have to hold back the man. The woman suddenly has a long, curved dagger in her hand.

Sara doesn't back down. Scott is amazed when she actually steps _forward_. "I take it you know what my grandmother is capable of, then?" Scott sees her eyes shift to blue, even brighter in the afternoon sun. "Do you really want to see what _I'm_ capable of?"

Scott can hear Stiles moving. He tries not to look, but his eyes slide to the edge of the parking lot. He can see the ash mixture following the edge of the parking lot, creating a barrier.  He hopes Stiles is right and that this will work. He looks back at Sara and Alessa quickly before any of the hunters notice.

"I am going to kill every last one of you," Alessa hisses.

Her finger squeezes the trigger, but Sara is already in front of her and shoving her arm upwards. Allison has her bow up and pointed directly at Kate when Sara steps back, Alessa's gun in hand. She empties the gun expertly, throwing it to the ground when it's safe. Peter tears himself out of Scott's grasp.

Then everything is moving too quickly. The hunters are pouring out of the SUVs and forming a circle. An arrow flies past his head and Scott spares a thought to hope that Allison won't let one bad shot go to her head. Cora, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are behind him before he realizes they've moved. They start growling and he knows they have all shifted.

All but him.

For a split second, he feels like he is going to lose it. But he forces it down. He can keep control. He can do it.

* * *

She almost hit Scott. She tried to hit Kate in the shoulder and she almost hit _Scott_.

Her hand shakes around her bow and she throws it behind her. She isn't going to be any help with it. She pulls out her knives instead. Just because she can't aim a gun or a bow doesn't mean she isn't dangerous.

Allison's father emerges from the tree line, skirting the edge of the parking lot and heading towards the SUVs. Allison follows. There are five hunters all armed to the teeth with long-range rifles. They have to be taken care of before they can hurt anyone.

Her father manages to flank one of the men. He hits the man on the back of the head, wrenching the weapon from his grasp when he falters. One of the women turn to him, but Allison slips behind her and holds her knife to the woman's throat.

"Drop it," she says in the woman's ear. Her arm is wrapped around the woman's shoulders and Allison uses her other hand to grip the hunter's elbow.

The woman struggles, but Allison just presses. She feels the knife break skin and the woman goes slack in her grip. She spins in a circle, still holding the woman against her, using her momentum to slam the hunter into the side of the SUV. She crumples, blinking dazedly.

She reaches for the next hunter, hitting him on the wrist with the hilt of her knife. He drops the rifle and she pulls her leg back, snapping it forward behind his knee. He falls and she aims another kick at his head.

Her knives fall from her hands when she's shoved against the car. A forearm presses against her windpipe and she has to blink the spots away from her eyes. It's another woman, this one with darker hair than the first. Allison struggles, lashing out and trying to get free.

The woman presses harder against her throat.

"Traitor," she hisses. "You’re an _Argent_. You should be helping us fight these beasts."

Everything is going dark around the edges. Allison scrambles for her ribs. She knows she has a dagger strapped to her side. Everything is black when her fingers finally wrap around the hilt.

She pulls it out, slashing blindly. The woman drops her and Allison chokes. She has to get up. She has to fight. But she can't breathe. She can't see.

There's a hand on her arm and she lashes out wildly. "Allison," her father says.

Allison slumps, waiting for her vision to clear. Her dad will make sure she's okay until then.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know," she says, throat rubbed raw. "My hands - they kept shaking and I - "

Her father doesn't reply. Allison is glad that her vision is still fuzzy. She doesn't want to have to see his worry or disappointment.

"Is everything - "

"Everyone is doing fine. Sit and wait for your head to clear."

Allison nods, and it just makes spots dance across her eyes. She listens to the sounds of growling and gunfire. The plan has to work. It has to.

* * *

It is not often that Lydia feels useless. She learned long ago that if she wanted something, she had to make herself useful. If she checked the math on her parents taxes, then she would be able to get a new cell phone. If she did her homework immaculately, teachers were less likely to call on her when she wasn't paying attention.

Lydia is useless now.

She and Allison did all the planning. She made sure everyone was in place and stayed in place until the proper moment. Now guns are firing and all she can do is duck until the Sheriff gives her the signal.

But Lydia doesn't intend to just sit and hide. Her friends are in danger and Lydia is not going to sit by and do nothing. She may not be a gymnast like Allison, but she can get on top of a car and use binoculars. The werewolves will be able to hear her from there. She can make sure that everyone is being safe.

The parking lot is a mess. Allison and Chris are fighting long-range weapons from the hands of five hunter's at the edge of the lot. Lydia moves the binoculars to the center of the parking lot. Most of the hunters are clustered there. She can see that they're trying to circle together, protect each other's backs against the werewolves headed straight for them.

Lydia is impressed. She didn't think that such a maneuver would actually be effective against werewolves, but it seems to be working. Whenever anyone tries to get close to the hunters, the person next to them steps out of formation and drives them off before returning to their place.

It's effective. Not effective enough.

"Scott," Lydia says loudly. She sees him tip his head towards her. "Boyd and Derek should both rush the same hunter. Erica and Cora can slip into the center and scatter them. Then take them in pairs. Disarm, contain, move on."

Derek must have been listening, because he immediately grabs Boyd and they rush forward for the largest man in the circle. They fend off both him and the women on either side of him. Erica and Cora dart forward, slipping between hunters safely. As soon as they're in the center, the hunters spin and scatter.

"Lydia, we need to call."

She pulls the binoculars away from her face, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. "Did your plan actually work?"

He rolls his eyes. " _Yes_ , Lydia, it worked. Can we make our calls now? Melissa is already on the line and Jade is already done."

She sighs and pulls out her cell phone, dialing 911 and lifting the binoculars back to her face with one hand. "911, what is your emergency?"

Lydia kept her focus on the fight, on how the werewolves keep trying to disarm the hunters. How the hunters keep pulling more weapons to fend them off. While she watches, she forces her voice into a high-pitched panic.

"I - I'm driving out by the preserve and I keep hearing gunshots. Like, a lot of gunshots. It's not hunting season is it? It's like in the movies, oh my god - oh my _god_ \- "

"Miss, where are you?"

"I was heading out to the access road - you know, the one with the huge parking lot and all the trails? On the east side of the preserve? And I stopped my car and the guns aren't stopping - _oh god_ \- "

"Miss, we'll send officers out to check everything out. I need you to give me your name - "

Lydia hangs up the phone. The tip is in and she will not be giving any statements. She watches as Chris and Allison lock the hunters they disarmed in the back of one of the SUVs. It won't hold them for long, but it will be enough for now. None of them will be climbing over seats with their injuries. Most of them are unconscious anyway.

She shifts her focus to the werewolves. They aren't faring well, but she doesn't know how to help them.

* * *

His hands are shaking. He has his fingers clenched around the bottle of ash. Three kinds. Rowan, oak, and birch. All to protect from harm. To keep the everyone safe from the hunters. Stiles made it himself with materials from Deaton.

Now that he's ready to do act, it seems impossible. Trapping hunters with what was essentially mountain ash on steroids? Maybe he's wrong. Deaton said intent is the most important element of magic, but if intent was all an emissary needed to trap hunters why hadn't anyone tried before? If they had, wouldn't the hunters know about it?

It isn't going to work. The entire plan hinges on the hunters being trapped until the police get there and it _isn't going to work._

"Stiles."

He turns and sees his dad crouching down behind him. "Dad, it isn't going to work. I can't do it, I - "

"Just breathe, kid," he says quietly. "Tell me what you have to do. Step by step."

Stiles swallows. His mouth is too dry and his tongue feels thick in his mouth. His fingers ache around the bottle. "I have to imagine it making a ring around the parking lot. I have to…I have to believe that the hunters won't be able to cross it. That it will protect us from harm. But I can't - "

"You can," his dad interrupts. "You could talk your way out of anything and you know it. Stop thinking. Just do it."

Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He turns back to the parking lot, but keeps his eyes shut. He opens the bottle and pours it into his hand blindly.

The ash falls from his hand and he imagines it sliding through the grass to the gravel. He pictures it splitting, each fork following the edges of the lot to meet on the other side. He imagines Kate and Alessa trying to leave the circle and getting thrown backwards. He pictures the pack crossing over safely. He imagines the bullets fired from the gun stopping in midair.

 _Protect us,_ he thinks desperately. _Keep everyone safe. Protect us._

He opens his eyes. It's hard to see the ash against the gravel, but he can see the ring closing on the other side.

Then a gun fires.

Stiles flinches at the sound and watches as the hunters start circling together, making a ring facing outwards. He scrambles backwards, almost running into his dad. He needs to get far enough away from the gunfire that his cell phone won't pick up the noise.

"I have to circle around," his dad says lowly. "Be _careful_. Get yourself hurt and you'll be grounded until you're thirty."

"I don't think you can actually ground an adult, so you've got a year at best." His dad rolls his eyes, then squeezes his shoulder before heading back to his cruiser. "You be careful too!"

"Yeah, yeah. Wait until Melissa and Jade have called to make your tip."

He nods and watches as his dad drives off, heading over to Melissa's car. She has her cell phone in her hand, purposefully looking away from the clearing. "When should I call?"

Stiles glances through the trees to the parking lot. He can't see much. It's too far. But he can see that the hunters have scattered. They aren't in a ring anymore. He glances over and sees that Lydia is on top of her car, binoculars in hand. She's probably relaying battle tactics to the werewolves. Jade is pacing, phone pressed against her ear and looking at the clearing nervously.

"Call now. Then Lydia and I can call."

He turns back to the clearing. The pack is working quickly. Hunters are lying on the ground motionless. There aren't many left.

It actually looks like they're winning for once.

He tells Lydia to call before pulling out his phone. He dials 911 and once he hears that Diana is the operator, he talks over her. "Diana, it's Stiles, I'm in my Jeep on the preserve and there are guns going off. _Actual guns,_ okay? Not just firecrackers or something, _actual guns_ and they're going off all over the place."

"Stiles - "

"Look, just get my dad out here, okay?" he says, forcing his voice to sound kind of panicked and concerned. "And make sure he has backup. Like, full-on SWAT team. How long do they take to put together?"

"We'll take care of it, Stiles," she says quickly. "Now where does it sound like the shots are coming from?"

"East. Hey, any chance you can keep this out of Agent Jerk-off's ear? I mean, he doesn't deserve any arrests this easy. Idiots shooting in the preserve when it isn't hunting season? He totally should have to work for collars. Since he's such an _asshole_."

Diana sighs. "You know these are recorded," she says tiredly. "I know you do. Your tip is registered, so get off the line."

"Fine, fine. Make sure Dad calls when he's done."

He hangs up and creeps closer to the parking lot. Lydia might have binoculars, but he doesn't. In fact, he wants to know where _she_ got binoculars.

Once Stiles gets closer, he can see that there are hardly any hunters left standing. What draws his eye, though, is Kate. She's backing up towards the SUV quickly. But Scott is creeping around the other side, trying to sneak up on her. She swings her rifle towards him, but he grabs the barrel and slams it against her shoulder.

He can see them talking.

Then Scott shifts. He shifts and looks just as in control as he used to be. Kate dives into the SUV and Stiles can't help but feel proud. Scott terrified Kate Argent. _Scott McCall_ terrified Kate Argent. Stiles has never been more proud.

The tires squeal and she almost hits Cora when she turns around. He watches with a lump in his throat. His skin feels like it's vibrating, pulsing more the closer Kate gets to the line of ash. He wants to close his eyes, but he can't.

The SUV reaches the line. The front end crumples. It worked. It actually worked.

Stiles smiles so wide that it hurts his face.

* * *

Scott still has not shifted. Over half the hunters are unconscious, but he hasn't shifted. He looks around the clearing. Sara and Cora are fighting off Alessa and another woman. Erica and Isaac are dodging shots from two women standing back to back. Derek, Boyd, and Banner are trying to finish off the last three men.

Kate is backed against one of the SUVs.

He circles around the back. If he can sneak up on her, he can take her out before she can do any harm. He is three feet from her when she spins so he's staring down the barrel of her rifle.

He moves without thinking, grabbing the barrel and shoving it back against her shoulder. He rips it out of her hand, throwing it to the side. His fingers start to tingle and he can feel the shift trying to force itself.

Scott can't let anyone get hurt. He won't.

Kate's glare makes him want to snap. He wants to hurt her. Make her pay for everything she did. To Derek and his family. To Allison. He wants her to _pay_.

No.

He won’t hurt anyone. Not even Kate. He isn’t going to let himself become Peter. He doesn't _need_ to hurt Kate. She’s going to pay for what she's done.

He might not have to hurt her, but he can show her that they aren't scared of her.

The shift is fluid. Thoughtless. He can feel his nails lengthen into claws, his teeth sharpen into fangs. The manic fear is gone. He is in control.

* * *

The werewolves are _winning_. It’s unacceptable. She called Alessa so their deaths would be definite. Now the beasts had them running in circles.

Something is wrong. The Beacon Hills pack hasn't been effective or even a threat since the fire. They're different now. With Callie, Lia, Dimitri, and Nicolas out of commission - thanks to her brother and niece - they are outnumbered. Thirteen hunters against eight werewolves and two traitor hunters.

Technically they have numbers. Technicalities don't matter when dealing with werewolves. One werewolf can easily handle two to three hunters.

Kate swings her rifle around, aiming at Derek. She fires, but he moves before the shot can connect. She backs up steadily, trying to move closer to the cars. If she can have the cars at her back, she stands a chance. She can't be surprised. She just has to make sure she has a clear escape.

She sighs in relief when she feels the cold door of an SUV against her back. She raises her rifle, but doesn't fire. She needs to make an assessment.

Vasia and Alessa are holding their own against Whelan and the Hale girl. Kate still doesn't know which one she is or how she's alive. She was sure she got all of the beasts except Laura and Derek. Alessa's cousins, the Andris', stand back to back fighting off the blond teenagers. All of Alessa's brothers are lying on the ground near the edge of the circle. Kate hopes they aren't dead. Alessa will have her head if any of her siblings are hurt. George, Anthony, and Mikey are fighting off Derek, the black teenager, and the Whelan boy.

Which means Allison's boyfriend is the one trying to flank her.

She spins, aiming the rifle at his head. He freezes, but not long enough to give Kate time to react. Before she can pull the trigger, he has his hand around the barrel and shoves it against her shoulder with a sharp crack. It’s wrenched from her hands.

Kate grips her shoulder tightly, then tries to reach the knife in her jacket. She wouldn't be as effective with her left hand, but a dislocated shoulder isn't enough to stop her. Scott steps towards her, still looking completely human. He's the only one that isn't shifted.

"Go ahead and try," she hisses. "You think you stand a chance against me, Scott? You've been a werewolf a year. I've been a hunter my whole life."

"I'm not going to kill you," he says, stepping forward.

Kate steps back. This isn't the same puppy she dealt with before. He’s an actual predator now.  She doesn't know if she can actually win in a fight against him. Not with a dislocated shoulder.

His face changes, but it doesn't look the same anymore. Everything is more pronounced. More dangerous-looking. Then his eyes shift. They are glowing red.

"Run," he whispers through a mouth of fangs.

She spins and wrenches open the door of the SUV, diving into the driver's seat. Her shoulder feels like it’s full of nails, but she ignores it. She floors the accelerator, heading for the access road and ignoring any of Alessa's family members. She refuses to fight Scott if he’s the alpha now. Peter is still alive. That means Scott gained the power on his own.

True alphas aren’t something any hunter willingly fights. They’re more dangerous. Less predictable. More intelligent.

She almost runs over Alessa and the Hale girl when she makes a U-turn. She is feet from the access road, from freedom, when the car slams to a halt. She’s thrown forward, head striking the steering wheel hard enough that everything goes dark.

Kate throws the door open, falling out of the SUV and to the ground. Her vision clears enough that she can see the line of ash. The front of the SUV is crumpled directly above it.

An _emissary_. Where did they get an _emissary?_

She crawls for the line, trying to reach out and break the line. As soon as her hand reaches the ash, light explodes and she flinches from the burn.

A shadow falls over her. She looks up and sees Allison, expression grave as spots dance across Kate's eyes. She can't stay awake. Her head aches and she can taste blood. When did she start bleeding?

Kate hears sirens. Alessa screaming. Allison disappears. She can only taste blood.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

"Official story is that Kate faked her death," John tells the pack. It's been hours since he left his son and the werewolves to circle around, make sure he was the first person at the scene. "She's in the hospital, heavily sedated and under 24/7 watch."

The entire pack huddles on the floor of Derek Hale's loft. It's sparse, to say the least. John wonders how this became his life. Abusing his position to help supernatural creatures. A barely-furnished loft packed with werewolves, hunters, a banshee, and his apparently-magical son.

John still isn't sure how to deal with _that_ revelation. If he hadn't seen the inexplicable damage to the car when Kate tried to escape, he wouldn't have believed it actually possible. But he saw it. Saw that the damage was perfectly in line with where the ash had been - ash that disappeared on its own before anyone else stepped foot on the scene.

"What about Kokinos?" Chris asks seriously.

"None of them are talking. Which is good. The FBI is taking point on the investigation and believe that Kate may have been planning more murders, enlisting the Kokinos family to help her. They're trying to attribute the sacrifices to her."

"What's going to happen to her?"

John turns to Derek. There is something he doesn't know. Something more than what Stiles told him about the fire. He knows now that Kate orchestrated it, knows that she killed the Hales. But whenever she's mentioned, Derek goes completely stiff. John is starting to wonder.

"She's going to spend a very long time in prison," he replies simply. "I placed her under arrest for the fire as soon as she was placed in recovery. And I might know better about the murders of her conspirators, but the Sheriff's Department doesn't. As far as we're concerned, she’s still considered responsible for those deaths as well. I doubt she'll ever even see a trial. She'll take whatever deal she's given."

"What about Alessa and her family?" The question sounds like it explodes out of Stiles' mouth. John resists the urge to sigh. His son.

"I doubt any charges will stick. The firearms all have permits and no one can explain what they were shooting at. Any charge we try to slap them with will be minor. They won't be in holding for long."

"Then I need to call my grandmother," Sara says, standing. "The first thing they'll do is try to get revenge."

"They'll probably stay away from us," Allison says softly. "They won't risk anything that could get them arrested again. They'll wait."

"They will," Jade replies, crossing her legs and taking up the space Sara left. "But Sara told them who she is. They’ll probably go after us first."

"If you need help - " Scott starts.

Jade smiles. "If we need help, we’ll call. I'm sure we'll be keeping in touch anyway."

John sighs. Everyone is breaking off, talking to one another. He doesn't know what is going to happen with Alessa Kokinos or her family. But John is going to make sure that Kate never sees the light of day again. Pinning the sacrifices on her won't be difficult, especially since the actual perpetrator is dead. All of the Hale murders alone would give her multiple life sentences. She won't be able to squirm comfortably after he’s done with her.

He knows that he will do the same to Alessa Kokinos if she comes after them.

Stiles leans against the pillar next to him. "Hey, Dad."

"What do you want, Stiles?"

"Want? Who says I want anything?"

John raises an eyebrow. He's astounded his son managed to lie about werewolves for so long. He’s completely transparent.

"All right, I…uh. I thought maybe we could go back with Sara and Banner?"

He isn't expecting that. "So long as it's okay with Sara, that's fine.

Stiles bites his lip and nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I just - well, I thought that maybe - " He stops and swallows before continuing. "I want to know more about Mom," he says quietly. "Sara said they still have what she used to teach herself and I - I want to see it. I want to learn what Mom knew. And Remy or someone might know about banshees so Lydia can figure out what's happening and Derek said that Remy was bitten and we could learn a lot from her so - "

John reaches out and claps a hand down on his son's shoulder. "Kid, you don't have to explain it to me. I'm happy to go. You can miss some school, even, if you need to stay that long." Stiles nods and relaxes against the pillar. He still looks tense. Stressed. "Stiles…"

"Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

"Is this about the nightmare? Dad, it was just - "

"No," John interrupts. "I'm not letting you talk your way out of this. If you don't want to talk to me, talk to Sara or Banner. _Someone._ But you need to tell me what you need."

He looks down and looks like a little boy again. "I don't know," he says quietly. "I don't - "

"Okay. But as soon as you know? _I_ need to know." Stiles nods, looking miserable. "And tell Scott and Allison they can talk to me too, if they need to. I know they're having nightmares too."

"Okay."

"All right. Then I'm going to head out. Call me if you're going to be late, okay?"

"Sure, Dad."

He claps his hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezes. "Stay safe, son."

John leaves the loft, heading for the hospital. He wants to be there when Kate wakes up. Hopefully _Agent McCall_ is busy with Alessa Kokinos and company. He is not in the mood to fight over jurisdiction.

* * *

Her dad leaves not long after the sheriff. He looks like he wants to say something to her, but leaves without a word. Allison grips the hem of her skirt tightly. She wishes things weren't so strange between them. But she doesn't know how or even if they can fix it.

They have too many secrets. And her dad isn't talking.

"Shouldn't you be happy?"

Allison turns to look up at Lydia. She's perched on the arm of the couch, eyebrow raised expectantly. "Who says I'm not?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I do. And so does the look on your face."

"Just thinking."

"Well, why don't you think about how Kate is going to be in jail for the rest of her life?"

Allison looks down at her knees. "It's not going to help my aim. I couldn't use my bow, Lydia. I almost hit Scott."

"And? You found a way to fight. The more you worry about it, the worse it will be." Allison sighs and closes her eyes. Lydia leans against her so Allison's head is pressed against her arm. "We’re going to find a way to get your aim back to sharpshooting abilities. We’re going to find out what the hell it means that I'm a banshee. Okay?"

She smiles and opens her eyes. "Sounds like a lot of research."

"Oh, it will be. Don't worry, Stiles will help too." Lydia flips her hair over her shoulder. "Now. How about we get out of here and relax? I think a night of primping is just what we need after today."

Allison laughs. She loves Lydia. No one is able to distract her or make her as happy. She never would have guessed when they met that they would be so close. But Lydia is the best friend she’s ever had. She knows when Allison needs a night of brutal honesty with a tub of ice cream or a night of braiding hair and homemade facials.

It won't help her nightmares. It won't help the fact that Allison is terrified Kate will find a way to stay out of jail. But it will help right now. She can't do anything about the nightmares or Kate now. But she _can_ relax and have fun with her best friend.

"Okay. Let's get out of here."

* * *

 

Stiles is looking up visual hallucinations online when Sara knocks on the door. He’s taking advantage of the fact that he can actually read at the moment. He can never tell when the letters are going to start jumbling. He decided to risk trying because he can hear his dad downstairs. He's been looking at Kate's file and making sure any prosecution will have an iron-clad case against her. Reading seems to be easier if his dad is nearby.

"Are you busy?"

He rubs his eyes, pushing back from his desk. "Not really."

"Can we talk?"

Stiles licks his lips. "Look, if my dad put you up to this - "

"Stiles," she interrupts, "your dad asked me to make sure you were doing okay, but that's not what I want to talk about."

He frowns. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She sits down in his extra desk chair. "I wanted to talk about my family."

"I can still come visit, right? I mean, is that okay?"

"Of course it is. You're as much a part of our pack as you are a part of Scott's."

Stiles rubs his jaw roughly. "But why? Just because of Mom? I mean, I haven't seen anybody in years. I haven't met over half of your family."

"It’s mostly because of your mom. Niamh was…we were like you and Scott. We were family in everything but name. If Scott ever has kids, you would consider them family. Right?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"But she's not the only reason. Pack…it's delicate. Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you can't be in the same pack. It just doesn't work. You've been part of our pack just because of _you_ since you were a baby. You just fit. Both you and your dad."

"So what do you want to talk about?"

She sits up, running her hand through her hair. "Your friend Lydia. And the two that the necromancer brought back. My grandfather - Francis - he has a library. It's huge. Every piece of information he’s been able to gather about the supernatural since Remy got bitten. I thought there might be something there that could help them. We don't know what she did to your friends and I'm sure Lydia wants to know about banshees. I thought you might want to bring them along."

"And that would be okay? I mean, apparently I'm a dual citizen human pack member, but Lydia and Erica and Boyd aren't. Will your family be okay with them coming to stay?"

Sara looks at him in disbelief. Stiles doesn't know why. It's a legitimate question. Aren't werewolf packs supposed to be territorial? Secretive even amongst their own kind?

"They're your pack, Stiles. Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"I don't know! Derek doesn't tell us shit, probably because he barely has any idea either, so most of our information comes from the internet or books we can barely read or whatever Allison's family has."

Sara shakes her head and smiles. "We're going to have to drag you out of the library, aren't we?"

"Probably," Stiles replies. "I mean, that's assuming I'll actually be able to read whenever we get there."

"What?"

He blinks and bites his tongue. He's an idiot. "I, uh…I'm hallucinating. Sometimes. Words get mixed up or fall off the page."

"Have you told your dad? Do you know why? Do we need to take you to the hospital? Are you sick?"

"What? No, I'm fine. I mean, relatively."

"Healthy people don't have frequent hallucinations, Stiles. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. We're handling it."

He doesn't want to tell her about the Nemeton. She's worried enough as it is. He didn't think werewolves could get circles under their eyes, but Sara definitely has them. She doesn't need to know why he's having nightmares.

"If you think keeping me in the dark about whatever is happening will stop me from worrying about you, then you aren't paying attention. And I'll keep asking. I'll try to find out myself. You don't need to handle it alone." She stands and rubs her hands against her thighs. Stiles avoids her eye. He doesn't want to lie to her, but he can't tell her. Not yet. "You should try to get some sleep. You have no idea how much prep goes into Thanksgiving for more than four. We'll be getting up early."

Stiles nods and turns back to his computer. "I will. I just want to finish this first. While I can."

She closes the door behind her and Stiles rubs his head, pushing hard against his scalp. He doesn't want to lie anymore. But if his dad and Sara know how bad things are with him, they'll worry. It's bad enough that he can't sleep and is waking up from nightmares screaming. It's bad enough that research, his go-to distraction, is impossible when words start falling off the page of a book.

They might think he’s getting sick like his mom.

He isn't going to let them blame themselves. Because they will, if they know the truth. His dad will blame himself for getting kidnapped and not being able to get out. Sara will blame herself for not coming back sooner.

He’s not. It isn't their fault. He is not going to let them think his problems are because of them. They know enough to help him if he needs it. If he needs more, he can find Scott or Allison.

He sighs and shuts his laptop. He's exhausted. He might wake up from a nightmare in an hour, but even an hour of sleep feels like it would help at this point.

* * *

 

Everything is starting to feel okay again. Scott isn't sure why, but ever since the fight with Kate and Alessa he has felt better. His chest hasn't felt tight. He has yet to feel like he is going to lose control. Even the nightmares have started to fade. He isn't hallucinating anymore.

He feels guilty. Allison still looks pale and exhausted. Stiles is still having trouble reading and sleeping. Neither have said anything about nightmares, but Scott can tell that it hasn't gotten better for them.

He wishes he knew why. Why was he suddenly able to shift? Why did he suddenly feel like he could keep control when he faced Kate?

If he knew why then he would be able to help Allison and Stiles. He knows it.

"Scott! What are you brooding about out there?"

Stiles pokes his head in the door and grins. Scott rolls his eyes. "I'm not _brooding_."

He scoffs. "Oh, really? Yeah, you totally weren't just staring out the window soulfully." Scott starts to retort, but Stiles throws an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into the dining room. "It's okay, dude. It's not your fault. It comes with being an alpha. Look at Derek! He was the grumpiest dude ever and now he's…well, definitely not a ray of sunshine, but he's not stuck under a perpetual rain cloud anymore."

"I can _hear you,_ Stiles," Derek growls from the dining room. "Stop messing around and get in here. Unless you want all of the food to be cold."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but turns and heads into the dining room. Scott follows. Somehow, they managed to fit everyone. Their dining room isn't very big, but Derek's loft is the only place that would actually fit all of them comfortably and he doesn't have any furniture.

They had to add two folding tables on either side of the table. It's still hard for Scott to squeeze  past everyone in chairs to get to the empty spot between his mom and Derek. Stiles is across from Derek, talking to Banner animatedly. Cora, Erica, and Boyd are all laughing about something. Lydia and Allison are in deep discussion about whether Black Friday shopping is worth the crowds or not. The sheriff is trying to serve food or get people to pay attention and pass dishes around.

He's never had a Thanksgiving dinner so big before. For years, it's just been him and his mom. Sometimes Stiles and the sheriff would join them, but his family has always been small.

Looking around, he knows that it will never be small again. He glances across the table at Stiles. He knows that most of the pack would understand how he feels. Stiles glances at him and grins. Derek flinches next to him, immediately glaring at Stiles.

"That was meant for Scott."

"Why were you trying to kick Scott?"

"How I show affection," Stiles replies with a satisfied smirk. "This was a good idea."

Scott thinks about all the awful things that have happened in the past year. Ever since he was bitten, he never got the chance to really feel safe or comfortable. Not really. Even when things weren't falling apart, he was always paranoid about something else coming.

Now he knows that more is going to be coming.

This time they are going to be ready. He knows that they can handle whatever comes their way. Whether it's the necromancer coming back or the Kokinos hunters wanting revenge or something they haven't encountered yet, Scott knows that they have a chance now. They fought off hunters and won.

Scott looks around the table. They can do this. They can live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! I want to thank everyone who has made it this far. This fic is the result of a lot of hard work and frustration, so I appreciate every single person who took the time to read it. As I'm sure you can tell from the loose ends, there will be a sequel. Eventually. I need to recuperate after the months I fought to finish this. But the sequel will most definitely include my version of possessed!Stiles. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is, as always, most welcome. Thank you so much for reading! If you want to come visit me on Tumblr, you can find me [here](http://justawordshaker.tumblr.com).


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